


Magic and Misery

by WordsAblaze



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (duh), Adrenaline, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur loves merlin, Asphyxiation, BAMF Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Bittersweet, Bleeding Out, Boredom, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Cliffhangers, Crying, Crying Merlin, Delirium, Depressed Merlin (Merlin), Domestic Fluff, Drink Spiking, Episode: s02e07 The Witchfinder, Everyone Loves Merlin (Merlin), Exhaustion, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Guilty Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, Idiots in Love, Isolation, Kidnapped Merlin (Merlin), Knives, M/M, Merlin deserves better, Merthur - Freeform, Nightmares, Pain, Parent Gaius (Merlin), Poor Merlin (Merlin), Protective Arthur, Protective Knights (Merlin), Rescue, Reunions, Scars, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Stitches, Teasing, The Stocks, Torture, Trapped, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, Whumptober 2019, Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), arthur to the rescue, camelot ships merthur, drugged, injured merlin, laced drink, merlin whump, no painkillers, numb, shackled, swordpoint, tired Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAblaze/pseuds/WordsAblaze
Summary: Merlin might use magic to help Arthur but he rarely uses it to help himself, which leads to an awful lot of misery... written for whumptober, enjoy!





	1. 1~ Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so Merlin may not be the most relevant fandom but I'm currently rewatching it and got inspired by the whumptober prompts so here we are :)

Merlin was tired. 

No, scratch that. 

Merlin was downright exhausted. 

He’d pushed and pushed himself with serving the noble guests who'd been here for whatever it had been, making sure they were all comfortable so they would compliment Arthur’s hospitality, and now they were gone but Merlin still hadn’t gotten time to stop and rest.

Sleep had become something out of a fairytale and the luxury of time was something that kept being pulled out from under him, throwing him into mindless chores that drained the energy from his very soul.

He didn’t even want to risk using magic to help with his endless list of tasks in case he was too tired to cover his tracks when someone approached - better to constantly feel tired than not feel at all because he’s dead. 

So when one of the guards on patrol crashes into him after he leaves Arthur’s room with the laundry basket, he doesn’t even have the strength to catch himself before he hits the floor, hard. The basket slips from his hands and clothes end up strewn all over the floor.

Merlin groans, pulling himself into a seated position as the guard mutters about incompetent manservants before closing his eyes to take a moment and gather his strength. 

The next thing he knows is Arthur shaking him awake, throwing blurred words at him.

Or something of the sort, because Merlin can’t understand why someone as pretentious as Arthur would use blurred words. Wait, what even were blurred words?

“Hmm?” Merlin manages, blinking rapidly to clear the haziness from his vision, and from his thoughts. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, his voice finally sounding like an actual voice. 

Nodding, Merlin shrugs Arthur’s hands off his shoulders and clears his throat. “Sorry, Sire, I just… I must have tripped?” 

His lie sounds empty even to him so it’s no surprise when Arthur shakes his head disapprovingly. “Am I to take your lying as insubordination or a result of fatigue?”

Merlin squints up at Arthur for an entire minute before just shaking his head. “I’m fine, I was… uh, I was doing your laundry.” 

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I know you’re an idiot, Merlin, but not even you can call throwing my clothes on the floor, laundry-” he pauses for a moment- “so why don’t you take the rest of the week off?”

“The week?” Merlin echoes weakly, more due to shock than anything else.

Arthur was usually reluctant to give Merlin so much as a mere afternoon off, never mind the rest of the week. Which was essentially the entire week, since it was only Monday.

“No,” Merlin adds a second later, reaching for the nearest item of clothing, “I don’t need time off. I’m-”

“-shaking,” Arthur interrupts, grabbing Merlin’s wrist. “You’re shaking.” 

His face heating up, Merlin glances at his traitorous hand, willing it to stop shaking, but his fingers seem to be determined to continue moving, betraying his facade.

“Honestly, Merlin, do I have to do everything myself?” Arthur asks before Merlin can reply, surprising him yet again. 

“Arthur…” Merlin trails off as Arthur gently brushes a thumb over his wrist, smiling almost smugly and setting warning off internal warning bells.

And because he’s still recovering from how gentle Arthur’s hands feel, he doesn’t notice himself being guided upright until he’s lifted off the floor and his head falls onto Arthur’s shoulder without him meaning so.

He forgets to breathe when he realises that he, a servant, had just been picked up, bridal style at that, by the prince - an absolute clotpole of a prince, but a prince nonetheless. 

“Don’t let this go to your head or anything, Merlin,” Arthur warns as he kicks open the doors to his chambers and carries Merlin inside. 

“Of course…” Merlin mumbles, far too distracted by how warm Arthur is to be focusing on anything else. 

He only properly breathes again when Arthur places him on the bed - surprisingly gently, at that. Only then does he exhale, forcing his eyes to stay open as he immediately tries to stand up again. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur asks incredulously, making him freeze in his tracks. 

“I don’t… Uh-”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Merlin, just lie down and get some rest.” Arthur, being Arthur, somehow manages to make that sounds both intimidating and endearing at the same time. 

“But it’s your bed?” Merlin frowns, utterly confused by this turn of events. 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you for that brilliant observation. I can’t exactly have my servant be seen falling asleep around the castle, can I?”

Oh. 

Merlin swallows his confusion and chides himself for thinking Arthur had acted for any other reason than his reputation. He nods solemnly and pushes himself upright, wobbling a little as he steadies himself and makes for the door.

Only to be met by a very irked Arthur. 

“Merlin, which part of ‘lie down’ did you fail to understand?”

But Merlin just shakes his head. “No, no, don’t worry, I’ll get back to my chambers as soon as I’ve picked up your laundry… Nobody will see me, I promise. They won’t think any less of you or anything.”

The frown on Arthur’s face could win a medal, if the competition was to do with simultaneously looking confused and irritated. 

“Don’t be so stupid, Merlin. I want you to rest in my chambers so I can… personally be sure you’re fit to get back to work.”

Merlin lifts a hand to wave Arthur off but that only reminds them both of how hard his hands are shaking and leads to Arthur forcefully guiding him back to the bed, pushing him so he sits down with yet another frown. 

“I’ll ruin the bedding, I can’t-” 

“You can,” Arthur argues, “and you will. Besides, you can change the bedding once you feel better.” 

Merlin smiles at that, and his eyes take this as a cue to droop. He almost falls straight off the bed but Arthur once again pushes him backwards, chuckling as he makes sure Merlin doesn’t roll off as he lies down properly. 

“Now get some rest so you can be useful, understood?”

Merlin nods groggily and murmurs, “thank you.”

He must fall asleep quicker than expected because there’s no way Arthur squeezing his shaking hand and wishing him a pleasant sleep isn’t part of a dream, absolutely no way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! I don't have a great track record of being consistent but let's see where this goes... 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	2. 3~ Delirium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, because of life, I'll probably do prompts every other day! Can't believe over 200 people read the first chapter in one day - thanks so much <3

Arthur was not having a great day.

Uther had lectured him about the competency of his knights for half an age over breakfast and naturally, that had put him in a terrible mood. Which meant that training with said Knights went terribly and his patience had worn thin by the time they’d returned from hunting.

On top of that, his stupid horse had decided to ride directly through a large puddle and soak his clothing, sending shivers down his spine every few minutes. 

All he wanted was a nice warm bath and a change of clothes.

But no.

He’s met with the rather disappointing sight of nothing when he pushes the doors to his chambers open.

No warm bath, no clothes laid out, and most annoyingly, no Merlin. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yells, frowning at the perfectly made bed.

No reply either. 

Arthur groans and stamps his foot in annoyance, scowling when that only results in water spraying over the floor underneath him. Enough is enough: if Merlin was too much of an idiot to remember his job, Arther would find him and forcibly remind him. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yells again as he marches through the castle, painfully aware of the wet trail he’s leaving behind him. 

He’s about to give up when he remembers Merlin’s earlier rambling about some new infection that Gaius wanted him to investigate. Taking a chance, he makes his way to Gaius’s study, absently grumbling the whole way there to try and make himself feel better. 

“Merlin?” he calls yet again, pushing the door open.

He sighs when there’s no reply, only the hint of worry settling into his mind as he steps inside and looks around. 

Undoing the clasp of his gauntlet, he frowns at the paperwork lying around until one piece of parchment catches his eye: a note of some sort. He almost feels guilty about intruding but then remembers that he all but owns the castle and gets over himself, picking it up.

It’s a note directed to Merlin, telling him Gaius is out of town to look for a remedy.

Weird.

If Gaius was out of town, why would Merlin be anywhere but attending to Arthur’s chores? 

With a frustrated groan, Arthur throws his gauntlet to the floor with an awful clanging noise that makes even him wince. 

But there’s something else.

He thinks he’s imagined it at first but no, someone had definitely whimpered at the clanging noise. Maybe it was Merlin from wherever he was hiding and Arthur can finally teach him how to do his job properly and not be so incompetent. 

“Merlin, out you come. I have had a downright terrible day and you are making it worse,” Arthur says, glancing around.

He’s met with only another whimper and what sounds like rapid mumbling. Frowning, he follows the sound and discovers his manservant curled up under a desk, hands over his ears and eyes squeezed shut.

Arthur blinks. “Merlin?”

Merlin curls further into himself and shakes his head. “No, no, please- go away!” 

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

Visibly flinching, Merlin rocks slightly. “Stop it, make it stop, I can’t- can’t help.”

“Uh, you can get me some warm clothes and a nice bath, actually.” The words feel wrong on Arthur’s tongue; something doesn’t feel right.

Merlin whimpers again, and something inside Arthur’s heart cracks a little. No matter how incompetent Merlin might be, he should never have to make such a dreadful noise because he’s bubbly and patient and pain doesn’t suit him at all.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks again, softer this time.

Again, Merlin refuses to acknowledge him and shakes his head. “No, no, stop it. Don’t pretend… I know Arthur’s not here, I  _ know  _ that much, please-”

The nagging worry from earlier expands to pure concern in Arthur’s mind and he kneels down as gently as possible for someone wearing armour. 

“Merlin, come on, it’s actually me. I’m-”

“-Not here. Not here, just like last time!” Merlin interrupts, abruptly throwing himself out from under the desk and darting out of the room. Arthur’s not even sure if he opened his eyes at all.

“Wait!” Arthur shouts, but Merlin doesn’t even slow, even as Arthur runs after him, his armour rattling as they make their way around the castle… back to Arthur’s room.

Even more confused, Arthur watches Merlin slip through a crack in the doors and slam them shut behind him, still talking to himself.

“Open the door, Merlin!” Arthur pushes but Merlin seems to finally found strength from somewhere inside those lanky limbs of his. Of all the times…

“Leave me alone! You’re not real!” Merlin yells back at him.

Arthur stills for a second as something occurs to him. 

Merlin must have caught the infection. Or whatever it was that he and Gaius were trying to cure. There’s no other explanation for Merlin to suddenly be acting so delirious. 

“Alright, then. If I wasn’t real, how would I know that you once tried to poison me with a rat that ate my boots?” 

Merlin whimpers from behind the door and Arthur hears a thudding sound, presumably Merlin sliding to the floor. 

“I don’t know, I don’t- I don’t know what I know!” Merlin cries, desperation laced in his tone. 

Arthur nods, even though there’s a door between them. “I know, you must have caught the sickness. But it’s okay, I can help. Just… Just open the door, will you?”

For a second, he thinks Merlin will listen, but then he hears another thud a muffled groan of pain. Followed by intense footsteps, as if Merlin is pacing, fast. 

“Merlin, please?” 

“No. No, no. You’re just… you’re in my head, of course you’d know that! I won’t let you in, I won’t let you kill me…”

Arthur’s blood freezes for just a second and he wonders what possible reason there could be for the idea of Merlin’s death to cause him so much panic. Probably because he’s freezing and no Merlin would mean no warm bath. It’s just the cold getting to him.

Either way, he needs to somehow fix this. 

“Enough of this!” Arthur clenches his jaw and steps back before kicking the door with everything he’s got. 

Merlin’s frightened yelp means he’s managed to throw the door open. 

Without missing a beat, Arthur storms over to Merlin and grabs his arms to stop him from lashing out in his panic. His eyes stay shut but Merlin struggles, another whimper falling from his lips as he tries to pull away from Arthur’s grip.

He looks awful, pale and unhealthy and close to toppling over. Arthur hates it. 

“Merlin, stop. I’m here, I’m not a hallucination,” Arthur whispers gently. 

Merlin shakes his head and opens his mouth to argue but Arthur clears his throat. “None of that, I’m not just in your head. Don’t be an idiot, Merlin; if I wasn’t real, how would I be touching you?

At that, Merlin freezes, his frown disappearing and his breathing slowing a little. Arthur doesn’t move until Merlin cracks his eyes open, blinking blearily. 

“Arthur?”

Arthur smiles. “Yes, you idiot. Were you expecting someone else?”

His eyes focusing, Merlin swallows nervously, heavily. “I- No. I thought- It wasn’t you last time and I… I don’t know to stop this.”

“Well, since you seem incapable of doing anything by yourself, maybe I should help?”

“Help?” Merlin questions blankly.

Before Arthur can make an indignant comment, Merlin’s eyes roll back and his arms go limp, his knees folding and his body slumping to the floor.

“Merlin!”

Later, Arthur would be embarrassed to think of himself sounding like a weak and worried girl but in the moment, all he thinks of is making sure Merlin doesn’t hurt himself as he hits the floor. 

He slides himself under Merlin and catches him so no harm comes to his head. It’s clear that Merlin has only fallen asleep, his skin still pale but his breathing normal. It’s a small relief to know that Merlin can’t suffer from any delusions when safely unconscious. 

As he shifts to pull Merlin closer - only to make himself more comfortable, of course - Arthur decides that if delirium were a person, he’d have murdered them in seconds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not proof-read because I have no time so let me know if there are any blaring mistakes <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	3. 5~ Swordpoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, the prompt was 'gunpoint' but since this is Camelot and guns don't exist, I went for the next best thing - swords!

Merlin was no stranger to swords.

How could he be, when his master was practically in charge of an army and dealt primarily with swords?

He’d cleaned them, polished them, thrown them in frustration, had to retrieve them after others had thrown them in frustration, and fetched them for Arthur hundreds of times. He’d even fought with them on certain occasions, when they’d been out on some sort of mission and had been attacked.

But Merlin had very rarely been on the receiving end of a sword’s attack. At least, not seriously. Of course, Arthur was a royal prat and would often threaten to skewer him with his sword if it was lost or not polished enough, but that was always in jest. 

Right now, however, Merlin was pretty sure it was much more serious than that. 

He could feel the muscles in his left arm screaming from where they’d been twisted behind his back and he was overly aware that every time he swallowed, his skin was pushed closer to the hilt of a particularly sharp blade.

He should know, he’d been the one to make sure it was sharp.

“Release the boy,” Arthur’s voice sounds as sharp as the sword threatening to kill Merlin.

“Will you heed my request?” The Nobleman asks in return, stepping back and taking Merlin with him.

Arthur only narrows his eyes and steps forward as well. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands. 

Merlin winces as the sword pushes into his skin when the man behind him huffs in irritation. His arm is starting to go numb and he’s not sure that he’ll retain the ability to fight back at all if the situation comes to it. 

Something flashes in Arthur’s eyes as he glances to Merlin’s throat and the hand pressed firmly to his side, where a painful bruise is making his breathing a little more difficult. 

“You have harmed my manservant and betrayed your crown prince. If you do not leave Camelot immediately, I will be forced to punish you as I deem fit, despite whatever status you may hold,” Arthur warns, his voice cold and controlled. 

Merlin offers him a small smile, appreciating the concern. It’s nice to know Arthur’s not quite as much of a prat as he was when they’d first met. 

But still, it would be nicer to know for sure that he’s not going to die at the hands of some pretentious, entitled Nobleman who’s incapable of knowing when to back down. 

“I’ve heard-” the man behind him changes position and tightens his grip on Merlin’s wrist, making him wince again- “that you care far too much for your... manservant.” 

Merlin freezes, glancing over at Arthur, knowing that he can’t admit to the claim without ruining his powerful reputation but also knowing that denying the claim would mean the nobleman has no reason to bargain at all. Which would lead to Merlin being killed. By a sword he’d perfected. 

Arthur refuses to meet his eye and simply smirks, cocking his head. “And where did you hear this foolish claim?” 

The pressure of the sword loosens briefly but the nobleman behind him then snarls and yanks Merlin closer to the door, not caring that he’s barely able to keep his footing or that there’s now a small trickle of red running down his neck. 

Merlin gasps, his right hand moving away from his bruised side to his neck, feeling the slight warmth of blood that should still be under his skin. 

His left arm is aching painfully now and the man behind him seems to be breathing down his neck on purpose, clearly desperate. “Well, maybe I’ll just take the boy as payment if the rumours are true and you aren’t so pitifully attached.” 

As blood trickles over his fingers, Merlin throws a worried glance at Arthur. He’s not sure if he’s worried for himself or for Arthur, who can barely get out of bed without his help, but he’s worried nonetheless; leaving Camelot is the last thing he wants to do. 

“Do not force my hand.” Arthur’s voice is quiet but the threat remains as poisonous as ever. “Threats of kidnapping and theft from the royal household warrants serious punishment.” 

“You owe me a debt!” the nobleman argues.

“Camelot owes nothing to a man as dishonourable as you,” Arthur replies, just as Merlin’s foot twists from the pressure on it and he stumbles, barely catching himself, a small gasp escaping his lips. 

The nobleman behind him takes this as an escape attempt and all but growls, digging the sword into Merlin’s neck and twisting his arm so hard that he can’t help letting out a cry, squeezing his eyes shut to try and evade the pain.

Nobody does anything for a second and then all three of them are tumbling to the ground, the nobleman’s sword shoved to one side as Arthur punches, breaks his nose and pulls Merlin up, standing in front of him protectively. 

He glares down at the man now clutching his bleeding nose. “I should have you hanged for that.” 

Merlin is almost surprised at the sheer amount of hatred and rage in his voice. Arthur may not have the patience that Merlin does but hatred does not come so easily to him. 

“Because my manservant would no doubt argue with me for giving you a death sentence, I will tell my father that you were nothing but a coward and decided to retreat home. But if I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to accidentally drop my sword through your heart. Is that clear?” 

Arthur towers over the man and gives him no choice but to meekly nod and accept his fate, scrambling to his feet in his haste to leave. Once he’s gone, Arthur turns to Merlin with no trace of hatred left in his eyes, replaced by an intense concern. 

“Are you okay, Merlin?” Arthur asks.

Merlin nods before clearing his throat awkwardly, wincing yet again as that pulls on the small wound. “Gaius...” he manages. 

Arthur nods and slings Merlin’s good arm around his shoulders, guiding Merlin to Gaius’ chambers and gently pushing him down onto the small bed. He kneels in front of Merlin, lifting a hand to the wound on Merlin’s neck and frowning sadly, angrily. 

Before Merlin can say anything, Arthur springs to his feet. “I’ll go find Gaius. Don’t move.” 

Suddenly tired, Merlin only nods, keeping his numb arm pressed as close to his chest as possible. He only looks up when Arthur doesn’t move, tilting his head in confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur admits sincerely, after a brief pause.

“It’s okay,” Merlin murmurs quietly; it hurts to talk.

Again, Arthur turns to leave but stops, sighing deeply before turning around again and locking eyes with Merlin. “But he wasn’t wrong.” 

A moment’s silence is followed by Arthur continuing: “I do care for you, a great deal.”

And, with that, he’s finally gone. 

Leaving behind an incredibly confused but very flattered Merlin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I like the concept of being at swordpoint better than gunpoint tbh...does anyone else agree?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	4. 7~ Isolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am literally so tired. I apologise if this chapter reads strangely but it's cold season and I have failed to avoid it so I'm not entirely aware of what I'm doing, you know?

Arthur was not known to be unjust.

Most people that knew him could comfortably say he played fairly and was never unnecessarily harsh.

Even Merlin, who complained daily to any Knights willing to lend an ear, would never go as far as calling Arthur unjust. It just wouldn’t be right.

But unfortunately, Arthur was an apple that had, with a little help, rolled very far away from the tree. 

So when a guard finally catches Merlin sneaking around the vaults at night with next to no explanation and brings him to the king as dawn breaks, Uther doesn't hesitate to punish him. 

By throwing him in the dungeons.

Merlin doesn’t even try to explain himself, knowing that, without revealing his magic, he’d only be able to make the situation worse for himself. He glances over to Arthur as the guard behind him drags him to his feet and flinches at the disappointment he sees. 

Of course Arthur would be disappointed in him, he’d only gone and ruined the trust between them and possibly doomed all of Camelot, not to mention Albion.

So Merlin keeps his head lowered as he’s lead to the dungeons, a route that’s become alarmingly familiar to him over time. He only looks up when his familiar route turns into a new path that he doesn’t recognise.

“Wait, where are we going?” he asks.

“Shut up. The King has decided he doesn’t want you taking up space in the regular dungeons,” one of the two guards answers, pushing him along when he pauses to think on that.

“But-”

“No talking,” the other guard interjects, leading him through corridors he hasn’t yet explored until they get to a row of small cells, cells even smaller than his chambers. 

“Wait, I-” 

The guards only glare at him, one of them pushing him roughly into the cell so he goes sprawling, landing awkwardly on his wrists. 

“We’ll see you when the king deems fit. Try not to die.” 

Merlin scrambles to his feet as they start to leave. “Wait!”

They don’t. 

Their footsteps echo for far too long before some kind of gate is closed and silence surrounds Merlin like some sort of malicious hug. 

He takes a few minutes to look around but the cell seems perfectly ordinary, with stone walls and bars at the front. There’s no sort of bed though, so Merlin will have to settle with the cold floor, although that’s not incredibly difficult. 

The only that really stands out is the distinct lack of light. There are no windows, the corridor seems to go on forever, and there seems to only be a few fixed fires along this mysterious passage, none of which are outside his cell. It seems that darkness is part of his punishment.

Merlin sighs and slumps to the floor, wondering if Arthur or the other Knights will be able to come and visit him like they usually do. It doesn’t seem likely.

There’s no light so he has no concept of time, at least not after he dozes off the first time because that means he loses count of the minutes and has to give up on keeping track. He tries pacing but it just tires him out and they don’t seem to be bothered about food so he discards that idea immediately. 

He ends up falling asleep without meaning to, unaware that Arthur is furiously talking with his knights above him to try and figure out where Merlin is being kept.

Merlin stirs as metal hits metal.

By the time his eyes have opened, there’s a plate of food - quite a lot of food that’s probably meant to last the whole day - at the entrance of his cell and the sound of receding footsteps in the air.

“Wait, hang on!” Merlin jumps to his feet but he can’t see anyone, which implies that they’d been told to avoid talking to him. 

He just sights and mentally calculates how much he needs to ration throughout the day - not that he has any way of working out what time of day it is - before taking a bread roll and slowly eating it, making sure to savour every bite. 

It’s dull.

Not the bread, the bread is lovely. Slightly stale but soft and enough to satiate his hunger. No, the bread isn’t dull.

The cell is dull.

Merlin groans for what must be the hundredth time as he heard someone’s footsteps again, only to realise nobody is coming towards him. He’s done so plenty of times already and should probably know better than to still hope, but he can’t help it.

He assumes it’s the fourth day - because he’s been given three plates of food, plus the first day where he got none - when something finally happens. 

He must have dozed off because he’s awoken by something being thrown at him. 

“Ow!” Merlin winces at the sound of his own voice; it sounds obnoxiously loud in the silence and he’d taken to staying so quiet that even his own footsteps made him jump at this point. 

And it’s not even that it had hurt, it’d just been a blanket.

There’s a guard staring at him in confusion but, when he catches Merlin’s eye, he straightens and clears his throat. “It’s going to be a cold night,” he warns, nodding his head to the blanket.

“Uh, thanks?” Merlin replies, pulling the blanket towards himself. 

“Yeah,” the guard agrees, clearly not knowing what he’s doing, and briskly turns to leave before Merlin can ask anything else.

Sighing, Merlin just slumps back down the wall and wraps the blanket around him, grabbing another piece to bread to nibble on. 

By the time his eyes are dropping again, he’s counted every crack in the bricks, twice over. There’s far too many for the walls to be structurally stable, and yet here he is, confined to the company of a blanket.

His head hits the floor with a dull thud and he groans, sleep vanishing from his mind as pain fills his thoughts. Cursing at himself for not preventing such a thing, Merlin just rolls his shoulders back and yawns. 

“Another great probably-morning to me,” he mumbles, shivering. 

The guard was right: It had been a cold night. And his blanket hadn’t helped in the slightest. The little Gaius in his head tells him that the minimal food and lack of hydration haven’t helped either, but he ignores that thought because there’s nothing he can do about it. 

He decides to just keep his eyes shut. 

There’s a slight risk of going insane if he keeps them open so he doesn’t. He just lets himself stay propped up by the corner, waiting. 

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for what?

Anything.

It’s definitely one of the worst punishments he’s been given, Merlin decides. 

He can’t wait for something to happen. He’d even take someone trying to kill him. Or someone trying to use him to kill Arthur. Or someone using Arthur to kill him, at least that’d be more entertaining. 

So he keeps waiting, desperately waiting. 

And, finally, his wait is over.

“Merlin, you idiot, why’d you have to go and get yourself thrown into dungeons I didn’t even know existed?” An exasperated voice inquires. 

An exasperated but beautiful, mercifully loud, voice.

“Arthur?”

“I didn’t know you could see with your eyes closed.” 

Merlin’s eyes fly open so fast, it takes him a moment to blink the bright daze away from them. And then he smiles, brightly, genuinely.

“Arthur!” 

He’s up on his feet in an instant, but then he stops, remembering the disappointment he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Arthur just scoffs. “I’m sure you are, Merlin. But you’ll be sorrier when you see the state of my chambers!” 

Merlin frowns, finally looking at Arthur, relishing in the ability to see another human being, a sign that he’s not going mad.

“You’re not… mad?” he asks tentatively, wanting to test the waters he’d so dearly missed before diving back in.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I’m not mad you were sneaking around, Merlin, I know that’s part of your so-called charm. But I am mad that you got caught. I mean, surely you’ve learned something by now?” 

Merlin opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. He’d expected a lot of things and had been given plenty of time to imagine all sorts of outcomes, but this was something he couldn’t have predicted in a thousand years.

“Thank you,” Merlin manages to say, beaming once more. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur replies sincerely, surprising Merlin even more. “I’d forgotten such isolation was even an option and… and I promise, I won’t let you be punished like this again.” 

For a second, silence fills the room again. 

Then Arthur clears his throat awkwardly. “I mean, surely my father knows it’s ridiculous to expect me to go a week without my manservant. It’s barbaric and none of the other servants know how to tidy my things away properly...” 

Merlin smiles. 

After a pause, Arthur smiles back. 

And somehow, Merlin thinks, it’s worth the wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, yeah, sorry for mistakes! Hope you (even slightly) enjoyed it ^.^
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	5. 9~ Shackled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little angstier than the rest so my apologies for that in advance! Also, 1k hits ?? Y'all are amazing, thanks a bunch <3

Merlin was usually careful enough. 

He knew he wasn't the most subtle with his magic - especially since Gaius never stopped lecturing him about it - but he rarely ever exposed it. Which meant that, for the most part, nobody would think to call him, the clumsy but joyful and loyal manservant, a sorcerer.

For the most part.

Every so often, someone would accuse Merlin of practising magic and there’d be a risk of jeopardising his destiny. 

This time, however, it was a little more serious.

This time, it was a witchfinder.

And a fraud of a witchfinder at that. 

Merlin catches Gaius’ eye as the witchfinder drags him into an audience with the King. The physician is doing a terrible job of hiding his concern, in Merlin’s opinion. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Uther demands, raising an angry eyebrow at the witchfinder.

“The boy cast a spell on my horses!” The witchfinder declares, shoving Merlin forward.

Barely catching himself, Merlin shakes his head at the King. “I wasn’t, I swear-” 

“All due respect, My Lord,” the witchfinder interrupts, “but surely you wouldn’t trust the word of a mere serving boy over mine.”

Uther frowns, clearly torn between what he wants to believe and wanting to save his reputation. If it comes down to his reputation, Merlin knows he’s doomed. 

“Do you have any proof of this accusation?” Uther asks. 

“You can’t have missed that my horses rampaged through the city as if possessed!” The witchfinder has the audacity to look offended, as if he hadn’t been the one to cause them to do so. 

Gaius steps forward before Merlin can try to argue again. “Sire, I think we should remember what happened with Aredian before you pass any judgement.” 

The witchfinder stiffens at the name and Merlin groans to himself because, if the two witchfinders are somehow related, there’s no way he’s going to let this go before Merlin is dead, or worse.

“Aredian, My Lord?” the witchfinder asks, his voice the epitome of innocence. 

Uther’s silence acts as a cue for the witchfinder to grab Merlin again. “If there are, as you say, multiple who have accused the boy, perhaps there is good reason for it?” he suggests, tightening his grip on Merlin as if daring him to argue. 

There’s a silence in which Merlin mouths an apology to Gaius.

Then Uther nods solemnly. “Very well. You may question the boy for three nights. If he then confesses to me, I will let you do as you wish.” 

Merlin’s eyes widen but Gaius and Gwen - who seems to have appeared from nowhere - look more hopeful than before. Apparently they haven’t heard of how witchfinders force confessions from people and expect Merlin to easily survive his interrogations. 

Once Uther's word is finalised, the first thing the witchfinder does is drag Merlin along and throw him into the small cage that lives on his cart, securing heavy metal shackles around his wrists.

He thinks he’s gotten lucky but no, as soon as the metal clamps around his wrists, something breaks inside of him, smothering him from the inside. Just his luck to be accused by a witchfinder that knows what kind of shackles can suppress magic. 

Despite the pain, Merlin glares at him once he’s done. “I know you’re framing me.” 

The witchfinder laughs as he spurs his new horses on and they start moving. “Just as you framed my father.” 

A small gasp escapes Merlin. “You’re Aredian’s son?” 

“Aren’t you a smart one?” 

He doesn’t have a chance to answer because Aredian’s vengeful son turns a corner and he’s painfully thrown against the side of the cage. He ends up focusing on trying not to cry out every time Aredian’s son makes the journey more difficult for him, which is almost continuously.

It doesn’t help that it feels like someone is slicing into his soul with every passing minute, the shackles effectively dampening his strength entirely. By the time they stop, Merlin is sure he’s gained a dozen bruises, if not more. 

He exhales softly as he hears Aredian’s son climb down and walk round to him. “I take it you won’t be ready to confess yet?” he asks languidly, clearly happy with this situation.

“I can’t confess to a crime you committed,” Merlin replies, not even trying to hide the venom in his voice. 

“Oh, but you will…” Aredian’s son laughs. “But since we have three nights and I rarely require more than one, how about you enjoy a quiet night under the stars for today?” 

“What?” Merlin finds himself asking before he can stop himself. It’s only then that he takes a moment to look past the pain and at his surroundings, seeing nothing but trees. 

Aredian's son unlocks the cage and unhooks the chain from the side of the cart, yanking Merlin out of the cage and forcing him to tumble onto the ground. With a groan, Merlin pulls himself to his feet and stumbles after the witchfinder, who doesn’t even look back as he pulls on the chain that links Merlin’s shackles together. 

They don’t stop walking until they reach a quiet, secluded clearing, where Aredian's son unlinks one of the shackles long enough for him to push Merlin in front of a tree and wrap the chain around the trunk so Merlin ends up effectively tied to it.

He’s too tired by the suppression of his magic to even fight back and the witchfinder takes this as a sign of him being in control of this situation. 

“They’re going to discover you’re a fraud, you know,” Merlin warns, testing how far he can go and realising he literally cannot step away from the tree without uncomfortably pulling his arms backwards.

“No, they’re going to discover you’re a sorcerer,” Aredian’s son replies, harshly kicking Merlin’s knee so his legs buckle and he ends up on the floor yet again, groaning softly.

“Now, I’d avoid sleeping if I were you… what with all the snakes and that.” 

He has the nerve to wink as he walks off, dropping petals behind him that Merlin can tell will attract the snakes that may have otherwise left him alone. Sometimes, it’s truly a curse to be Gaius’ ward and know so much about which plants attract which species.

Merlin stretches his legs out and winces as his knee starts throbbing but he can’t do anything about it, especially since he can’t use magic.

“This cannot be happening,” he mumbles to himself as he tries and fails to get comfortable, the tree digging into his back and the shackles feeling as though they’re digging into his bones.

Attempts to slide his wrists out of them only result in him breaking the skin there, leaving it more painful than before. Sighing, Merlin gives in and simply closes his eyes, preferring to be asleep than awake and in pain.

It doesn’t last long.

He wakes to a burning sensation.

He’s not sure what’s causing it at first but it’s not hard to figure out the source when his arms feel like they’re on fire, his wrists feel like they’re about to fall off, and the shackles feel as heavy as the burdens of his destiny as Emrys. 

Biting his lip to stop himself from crying out and giving his magic away, Merlin curls into himself and struggles with the shackles, the dull clinks of the metal barely registering to his ears as he finds it harder and harder to breathe.

“Stupid Uther…” Merlin mutters through gritted teeth, somehow finding himself wishing that Arthur had been there to negotiate on his behalf. 

With half a sob, Merlin gives up on the shackles, his wrists stinging from the myriad of cuts caused by the uneven metal and his head pounding as his magic screams at him from where it's being cruelly forced down.

It’s a small mercy that no snakes attempt to approach him despite a few having appeared, lured in by the scent of the petals. He's content to have survived what the witchfinder had attempted to throw at him, just like he'll have to survive anything else thrown his way. 

By the time Aredian’s son returns, Merlin is exhausted. 

“Well, well, well. It looks like someone foolishly did themselves a fair amount of damage overnight,” Aredian’s son drawls, laughing at the state of Merlin’s wrists.

Merlin just glares at him, too tired to argue or defend himself.

“If this is what happens before I even touch you, I can’t wait to actually get started…”

Something inside Merlin, something that feels a lot like hope, dies at the very thought.

But he’s too busy trying not to cry to care.

He has to get through his. To prove Aredian and his twisted son wrong. To prove to Gaius and Gwen and anyone else that believes in him that he won’t let them down. To make sure he’s there to protect and serve Arthur.

So when Aredian’s son unwraps the chain from the tree and roughly pulls Merlin back towards the cage on his cart, Merlin stays silent and focuses on breathing, on hiding the agony burning inside him, on staying alive for destiny's sake. 

Out of everything, witchfinder shackles will not get the better of him. 

He can’t let that happen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, excuse the errors since this kind of just kept flowing and I don't have time to edit properly, oops... Hope you liked it anyway :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	6. 11~ Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got pretty dark? Changed the rating to teen just in case... Not sure what came over me tbh but please be careful if you're squeamish !!

Arthur's worrying is of no help. 

Unfortunately. 

He'd argued with his father until he’d been sent to his room, he’d paced the polish right off his floor, and he’d thrown enough objects around for his room to look like it'd been attacked by a beast of some sort. 

But none of it had helped to get Merlin back. 

None of it could undo his sentence with the witchfinder.

The sentence that, while Arthur was busy worrying, Merlin was suffering through.

“No,” Merlin repeats, his voice barely some sort of hushed whisper. 

He’d tried not to talk at first and, in a way, he’d succeeded. 

He hadn’t confessed, but he’d whimpered. 

He’d whimpered and moaned and eventually cried out when the superficial pain on his skin had started to match the oppressive pain in his very bones. 

Aredian’s son was fond of blades.

“Confess!” the witchfinder snarls again, cruelly dragging the small dagger down Merlin’s arm yet again. 

“Not until you do,” Merlin bites back, but his defiance is weakened by the whimper that escapes him next. 

He’s not sure he can handle any more slicing into his skin, he’s not even sure he should be awake with the amount of blood that seems to be spilling out of him. The constant agony of the shackles suppressing his magic doesn’t help either.

Aredian’s son groans, throwing the dagger to the corner of the room that Merlin had been brought to earlier that morning. Apparently, surviving the night outside was a double-edged success and had only lead to more severe interrogation ‘techniques’. 

Merlin winces as the metal clangs against the stone walls, letting his eyes fall shut as he leans against the cold wall. At least it provides some relief from the way his magic is literally burning to be set free inside him. 

He hasn’t moved away from the wall since he’d been roughly thrown there and the chain connecting his shackles had been fixed into a bolt on the wall. There’d been no reason to aggravate Aredian’s son; his only goal is to survive, to get back to Gaius, and to carry out his duty of protecting Arthur. 

He can vividly feel all of the cuts littering his unfortunate skin, all the blood that falls over his fingers and slides down his torso. It hurts in a way that he can’t describe. 

“I am not without mercy,” the witchfinder declares unexpectedly.

A broken laugh escapes Merlin as he shakes his head in disbelief, not bothering to open his tired eyes. He can’t see any mercy in such a cruel kind of torture. 

“I will give you one more chance to confess,” he continues, his footsteps getting louder until he stops and crouches in front of Merlin, uncomfortably close, “before I take this to the next level.” 

Something infinitely sharper than any of the blades that had been used on him throughout the day touches the back of Merlin’s hand and his eyes shoot open reflexively. 

No.

He must have said that out loud because the witchfinder laughs. “I can’t have you bleeding out, now, can I?”

“No, please…” Merlin mumbles, finding a little strength in the newfound fear that shoots through him and shuffling away, as far away as possible. Not far enough.

“Is that a confession?” 

No.

It’s a needle. 

Merlin shakes his head weakly, biting his lip as Aredian’s son scowls darkly before sighing and arranging himself better, pulling Merlin’s arm towards himself in a firm grip.

“Well, then, I’ll have to make sure you don’t die so I can continue.”

Merlin whimpers softly and squeezes his eyes shut as the needle is pressed to his arm, into his arm, into the skin right at the edge of a cut, and then pushed, pushed, painfully pushed deeper until the thread is pulled through. 

He cries out immediately, trying to get his hand free, but there’s no use, the witchfinder is stronger. He makes a mockery of stitching the wound back together, unfathomable jolts of pain sparking along Merlin’s arm as he bites his lip hard enough to make it bleed. 

By the time the wound is stitched back together, the witchfinder is grinning and Merlin is close to crying. 

He yanks his arm back as soon as it's released and whimpers, knowing the wound could have done with a simple bandage instead. It’s almost alarming how neat the unnecessary stitches are, almost a parody of when Gaius has done the same for him in the past. 

“There, see, that wasn’t so bad…” Aredian’s son drawls, close to sounding like he actually cares about keeping Merlin alive. 

A small part of his brain is telling him that this is all for show, that it’s all being done so the King can’t complain and accuse the witchfinder of anything, but he’s blinded by the throbbing in his new stitches.

“You seem relieved…” 

Merlin looks up sharply, cradling his arm.

Aredian’s son smirks at him. “Come on now, don’t give me that look. We’ve only just started, after all.”

“No, no, no,” Merlin breathes, shaking his head, trying to move away, failing to move away because of the shackles, his eyes widening at the implication. 

Before he can make sense of anything, Aredian’s son has pushed him to the floor and is hovering above him, pressing down on his chest and brushing the needle against the gash in his side.

That one does need stitches, Merlin can admit. But he wants Gaius to do it, he doesn’t want this, he can’t handle this, please-

The needle pushes in.

Merlin screams.

His thrashing is weak because his soul feels drained but he’s aware of himself crying as the witchfinder just laughs above him, using the thread to pull his skin back together as if this is all a game, as if Merlin’s pain is nothing more than background music.

He feels himself starting to lose consciousness halfway through but he doesn’t get the mercy of staying unconscious, his magic forcing him to stay awake, to stay alert. 

So he just screams, his hands curling into his fists and his teeth starting to ache from being clenched together too hard. He can’t move, he’s pinned down by the weight of the witchfinder, but his free leg kicks at the witchfinder desperately, uselessly. 

It hurts.

Merlin can feel his resolve crumbling; this is something new, something no spell or book could have prepared him for. This is pure evil and he can’t do anything, he can’t find a way to stop it, he can’t figure out how to handle it. 

“Please!” he finds himself whimpering, wishing it would stop.

It doesn’t.

Not until the knot is tied and the gash has been closed in the most awful way possible.

Only then does he breathe, every breath tugging slightly on the stitches but letting him exhale his pain away. Or rather, imagine that he’s exhaling some of his pain away. 

“One more, I think…” Aredian’s son muses, glancing over Merlin.

He shakes his head again, silently pleading for him to stop. 

Aredian’s son clicks his tongue as his eye catches the wound on Merlin’s shoulder; Merlin watches as the idea forms in his mind but he’s too exhausted to even try and defend himself this time. 

He’s rolled over so that the cold floor is pressed to his face and he can see nothing but stone and blood, the shackles digging into his wrists painfully and Aredian’s son settling into place above him, pinning him down again even though he wouldn’t have the strength to move anyway. 

Merlin screams again as he starts stitching. 

This one hurts the most. 

He can’t stop the tears escaping from his eyes as the needle is pulled through his skin, weaving away the wound but leaving behind unmeasurable agony in its wake. 

He slumps into the stone below him, letting his tears fall as soft sobs leave his tired, bleeding lips. If he didn’t have magic, he’d have been mercifully unaware by now, but it’s just his luck to be plagued by the reminder of his destiny, his responsibility, his duty to fulfil the expectations looming above him. 

“Puh- Please…” Merlin manages to plead as the witchfinder harshly yanks the thread at one point and sends a whole new wave of pain down his spine. 

“I don’t know what you’re made of that’s keeping you awake,” Aredian’s son mutters, something like concern flashing in his voice for half a second. It disappears as soon as he adds, “But you could just take this chance to confess.” 

Despite everything, Merlin shakes his head, letting his eyes close once more. 

He’s so tired that he wouldn’t even have the energy to form a confession if he’d have wanted to. Not that he does. He never will. Not even if it kills him.

And as the third gash is finally stitched up and Aredian kicks him back into the corner, agony from all three wounds flaring up enough to entice yet another broken sob from his lips, Merlin thinks it just might. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that !! I am aiming for a third part to this situation as well, not to worry ^.^  
(or to worry... because this is WHUMPtober...)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	7. 13~ Adrenaline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my swords, you guys, this seriously got away from me... it's literally double the length I was intending !! But hopefully the ending somewhat makes up for the pain of the previous witchfinder troubles <3

Merlin rarely screams.

He’s so used to being quiet and hiding his pain to maintain his reputation as a bubbly manservant who always smiles at everything and cracks endless jokes. Even in front of Gaius. 

The last couple of days have made up for all of that.

He easily loses count of how many times he’s screamed in pain during his sentence with the witchfinder, both due to internal agony related to the magic-suppressing shackles and the inflicted external wounds.

And the third day’s morning sees him screaming yet again, albeit weakly this time, as freezing water is unkindly poured over him; it’s a shock and a half.

“I thought you might be dehydrated,” the witchfinder explains, even though it’s more of a taunt. 

Merlin just glares up at him, not even bothering to try and straighten his posture from where he’s awkwardly slumped against the wall because his limbs feel like the mud he usually has to clean off the horses after it’s been raining.

“What? No thanks?” Aredian’s son crouches down and lifts Merlin’s chin with his hand, smirking. “Do you need more incentive to show your gratitude?”

Naturally, Merlin doesn’t reply.

He’s too busy trying to figure out if he’s now freezing because of the unwanted shower or if the burning in every atom of his magical being is just so intense that it only feels as though his soul has frozen over and is now shattering into tiny fragments, fragments that are slowly piercing his organs. 

Within seconds, the witchfinder’s other hand presses down onto the stitched wound on his arm, eliciting a sharp, broken whimper from Merlin, who can’t help but also flinch away from the pain.

“Much better!” Aredian’s son beams brightly, as if he were a child getting his way. 

A lack of sleep means Merlin doesn’t even have the energy to mentally form a comeback to that, never mind actually say one out loud. He just waits until Aredian’s son is satisfied and lets go of him again so he can exhale softly, pulling his arm closer to his chest protectively. 

“I had so many fun things planned for today but I might have to change them if you’re so unwilling to talk,” Aredian’s son announces.

Merlin just waits, blinking water out of his eyes. 

“I think we’ll go for a ride,” he announces eventually, making Merlin groan.

He knows what’s coming but it still hurts - it hurts so, so much - when Aredian’s son unfastens the chain and yanks him to his unsteady feet, not bothering to let him steady himself before starting to march towards the door.

Merlin almost falls over in his haste to stumble after Aredian’s son, his numb feet just about managing not to let him fall until they arrive back at the cart. Only then does he stumble and end up on the ground, groaning softly as the witchfinder grins down at him. 

“Pathetic,” he comments gleefully. 

Merlin flinches from the word, using his less injured arm - that is, the one without the stitches - to push himself upright as he bites down on his lip to stop himself crying out.

Aredian’s son just grabs his ruined t-shirt and hauls him up, practically tossing him back into the cage before securing the chains to the cart once more. He’d lost his jacket and necktie at some point, probably when all those blades had gotten involved, so he can’t stop himself from shivering when his skin touches the cold metal of the cage.

“Comfortable?” 

Merlin lets his eyes shut and refuses to acknowledge the question, but regrets that when Aredian’s son bangs on the cage, the reverberation echoing through his bones and drawing out yet another whimper.

He feels himself slide down until he’s not touching the bars anymore, curling into himself to make himself smaller, less noticeable, less of a target.

Aredian’s son just angrily grumbles something about a confession and, soon enough, the cart starts moving. Hitting as many rocks and bumps in the road as possible, it seems.

When they stop, Merlin doesn’t notice. 

What he does notice, however, is the chains rattling and the shackles rubbing against his bruised wrists, where the skin is raw from when he’d found the energy to struggle.

He hisses softly, his eyes blearily blinking themselves open.

“Merlin?” 

Arthur.

Merlin gasps, pulling himself upright with newfound strength, carelessly lifting a hand to rub his eyes, ignoring the pain that shoots down his arm.

“I can’t- Merlin, stop moving!” 

Definitely Arthur. 

But Merlin obeys anyway, his gaze finally focusing on a familiar face as Arthur draws out his sword. Despite the familiar face, however, Merlin flinches as light glints of the sword, pulling himself into the opposite corner. 

“No, Merlin, I wasn’t-” Arthur cuts himself off, sighing sadly, and swallows before sheathing his sword almost guiltily and turning to the menacing chains once more.

Merlin lets his eyes fall shut again regardless of how much he wants to see Arthur, how much he wants to see if Arthur will stay. 

He’s missed Arthur.

There’s about a minute’s silence before an almighty, metallic noise rings out and Merlin abruptly feels alive. 

He gasps, ducking his head to hide his eyes as they widen because he can feel, actually feel the powerful golden glow that radiates from them. He covers his head with his arms as his heart blooms again, as his soul finally starts to thaw and comfort him again, as his magic roams free under his skin again. 

He breathes.

Inhales.

Exhales.

Simply breathing.

He’d forgotten how liberating it feels to be able to breathe normally.

He waits until he feels his magic settle, nestle inside him where it can’t be found, before looking up.

Arthur’s tears greet him.

He frowns but no, he’s not hallucinating, Arthur Pendragon is in front of him, is crying in front of him.

“Arthur…” Merlin breathes, a small smile blooming on his face.

Arthur looks conflicted but he beams as Merlin smiles, letting them share their relief for a moment before clambering onto the cart and unfastening the bolt on the cage, practically throwing the door open.

“Come on, Merlin, I have to get you out of here,” he says quickly, hushed. 

Merlin nods, pushing himself towards Arthur and letting himself be swiftly but kindly guided off the cart.

Instantly, there are arms around him. 

Merlin’s smile only lasts a second before Arthur’s hand brushes the stitched wound on his shoulder and he cries out, wincing enough for Arthur to pull back in concern. “Merlin?”

“S- sorry,” he manages, unable to stop smiling despite the pain.

“Oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry,” Arthur tells him sincerely. 

Someone starts yelling somewhere behind them - apparently, Aredian’s son hadn’t missed the commotion - and Arthur’s eyes widen, glancing around frantically before settling back on Merlin. “I’m sorry if this hurts,” he whispers.

Then Merlin’s feet are leaving the ground and his head is suddenly on Arthur’s shoulder. 

He whimpers but clings to Arthur as he bites down on his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet, focusing on his magic, trying to see how much of it he can use to help them escape, to help prevent Arthur having to face the witchfinder too. 

Not much, apparently.

But just enough.

With the help of Arthur’s strength and a sprinkling of Merlin’s magic, they manage to make it far away enough that they can’t even hear whoever it was chasing them anymore. Only then does Arthur stop and let Merlin down, making sure there’s a tree behind him that he can lean on. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” Arthur smiles. 

When he doesn’t continue with how he’d be losing someone to use as target practice or something of the like, Merlin lets himself smile properly for the first time in days. 

“Why… I mean, how did you…?” Merlin stops suddenly, unsure of what exactly he should be asking.

Arthur understands anyway. 

He shrugs. “I persuaded my father that three nights was far too long to result in a genuine confession and then I simply followed the tracks to find you.”

“You followed the tracks?” Merlin echoes, unsure where his energy is coming from but unable to resist an opportunity to tease Arthur.

Arthur clears his throat pointedly. “I may have, uhm, asked… everyone… if they’d seen a witchfinder.” 

Something soft, something like happiness, spreads through Merlin as he imagines Arthur questioning so many people just to look for him. It means more to him than he can care to admit and it makes his suffering at the hands of the witchfinder just a little more tolerable.

“Arthur, we can’t stay here,” Merlin finds himself saying, despite his heart wanting to do just that. 

Arthur nods solemnly. “I know, we have to get you back home- Uh, that is, to Gaius. So he can heal you. Because you don’t look good at all.” 

Merlin has questions but he makes a note of and saves them for another time. 

When Arthur moves to pick him up again, Merlin holds up a hand and steps back just enough to prove a point. He ignores the way Arthur looks horrified at the bruising on his wrist and swallows. “I can walk.” 

“Merlin…” 

“We’ll be faster this way,” Merlin argues. 

Arthur takes a moment but nods once more, pausing briefly before grabbing Merlin’s hand and starting to run.

“I only said I could walk, Arthur!” Merlin yells as they start moving.

“You also said you wanted to go faster!” Arthur yells back, his voice laced with equal amounts of amusement and concern. 

Merlin had anticipated himself falling but he does nothing of the sort, a strange sort of strength pushing him forward, allowing him to keep up with Arthur as they sprint their way towards Camelot. 

They don’t speak but they don’t need to.

If Arthur’s hand wasn’t firmly gripping Merlin’s as they ran, Merlin would have thought he was imagining this as some kind of fever dream. It just seems unreal that Arthur would search so desperately for him but he’s not complaining; if this is the reward for maintaining his end of destiny’s bargain, he’ll gladly accept it. 

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks breathlessly at one point, glancing sideways.

Merlin nods, not even lying when he manages to reply, “Never been better!” 

They carry on, through the forests and over the mostly deserted roads, stopping for nothing and no-one as they move, their fingers firmly intertwined as if their lives depend on it. 

Eventually, the castle comes into view and the two of them share a slightly exhausted but still exhilarated grin as they somewhat carelessly navigate their way through the streets until they burst into the courtyard. 

Coming to a stop, Arthur looks over to Merlin, pure relief in his expression. 

Merlin sends him a lopsided grin in return.

But then the blistering pain of the last few days catches up to him and he whimpers again, his hand falling from Arthur’s as he doubles over, his body aching all over.

Agony burns and dances across his skin, creating nonsensical patterns between his wounds and connecting the dots of all his bruises. It hurts and although it's slightly better than before because his magic is trying its best to help dull his pain, it still hurts a little too much for him to bear. 

“Merlin!”

He can hear Arthur’s concern but it seems that his adrenaline could only last so long.

Satisfied that he’s back in Camelot, back where he’s safe, back home, Merlin offers Arthur a soft smile before letting the soothing comfort of darkness take over, take away his pain.

He just about registers himself collapsing before he sinks into unconsciousness. 

At least Arthur's there to catch him this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I legitimately haven't read this through properly so my bad if it read a bit strangely! I hope it was at least slightly satisfying though :)
> 
> Feel free to point out any weird mistakes so I can change them later x
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	8. 15~ Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one still links to the witchfinder shenanigans but it's way better than the others in my opinion :)

Arthur was no stranger to scars.

A knight’s duty is to battle and continue to battle even when injured.

Naturally, not every battle can be won and often, Knights would return home with more injuries than victories, injuries that slowly but surely healed into scars of memory and experience.

Having scars should have been a trait reserved solely for Knights. 

Merin shouldn’t have scars. 

A strange kind of fury blossoms in Arthur’s heart every time he’s reminded that his manservant and his - dare he say it - his friend had been injured, tortured, and left with scars.

He knew Merlin would scar as soon as he’d seen him, there’d been far too much blood smudged on his bruised skin and soaked into his rags of clothes for anything otherwise. And then they’d started moving and Merlin had winced and flinched but pushed through and his hand had smeared blood into Arthur’s skin while their fingers had been intertwined. 

Merlin had been his responsibility and he’d failed him and that blood can never truly be washed off his hands.

Just like the witchfinder’s cruelty will never truly leave Merlin. 

Arthur doesn’t even get to see Merlin for what feels like an eternity after they return to Camelot because Gaius forbids it and not even Arthur would dare to interfere with a court physician’s love for his son.

But not seeing Merlin doesn’t mean he’s not constantly reminded of him. 

It seems that everything he does is somehow connected to Merlin so even waking up in the morning without their usual exchange of meaningless teasing feels strange, disjointed. If people didn’t respect his position as Crown Prince or First Knight, he’s certain they would have pointed out his general lack of enthusiasm, lack of spirit, lack of life.

And they’d be right; he misses Merlin. 

He misses him more than he can explain. More than he can express. More than he can handle. 

So he waits.

He waits and waits and pretends that he’s not suffering with his guilt and his concern and what seems to be his affection for Merlin.

It feels like years later when Gaius finally summons him.

Arthur’s never run so fast.

He thunders through the castle corridors until he reaches the physician’s study, composing himself enough to knock once, twice, thrice. 

“Come in,” Gaius calls from inside.

Taking a breath, Arthur pushes the door open.

Only to be hit with something.

“Ow!” he exclaims, rubbing his head and glaring at the lowly twig that had bounced off him. 

“What took you so long, clotpole?” Merlin teases.

Oh, how he's missed that voice.

Arthur feels himself laugh before he looks up, catching Merlin’s eye immediately, his feet pushing him forwards before he can think about it but his brain quickly catching up and making him freeze just before he gets round to embracing his manservant.

“Can I…?”

Merlin grins and pushes himself off the bench, wrapping his arms around Arthur.

It’s just about the happiest Arthur has felt in his life.

“Merlin…” he breathes, taking care not to press too hard as he wraps his own arms around Merlin, a relieved smile taking over his face. 

They stay wrapped within the moment and each other, neither of them wanting to ruin their reunion in any way, anything they’d previously planned to say forgotten in favour of savouring one another’s presence. 

“At least sit down, will you?” Gaius scolds, but not unkindly. 

Sighing, Arthur pulls back so they can both take a seat on the bench, refusing to take his eyes off Merlin, noticing the way he holds himself tighter, as if afraid of falling apart.

“I’m sorry, I tried-” Arthur begins, only to be cut off as Merlin lifts a hand.

“I know, Arthur. It’s okay… You came for me, didn’t you?” The soft smile on Merlin’s face is so pure, it makes Arthur want to scream. 

He doesn’t, of course. 

He just takes Merlin’s hand, frowning at the small, almost invisible marks on his skin that he knows he should have prevented.

Merlin clears his throat after the silence stretches between them. “My face is up here, you know?” he jokes. 

Arthur looks up slowly, unable to stop his gaze wandering over the rest of Merlin, the bandages peeking out from under his shirt, the few bruises that have failed to fade even after so long, and the way he seems to be smaller, more vulnerable, more fragile.

He knows Merlin is far from fragile, he knows that.

But he can’t help himself. 

“Arthur, please,” Merlin says quietly.

Guilt flashes through Arthur again as he finally meets Merlin’s eyes and notices the almost-healed cut on his jaw and the healed but not entirely invisible scar on his forehead. 

But he smiles nonetheless. “It’s good to have you back, Merlin,” he admits.

“It’s good to be back,” Merlin replies as he stretches a little, “but I’ve been in this room for so long, I’ve just about forgotten what wildflowers are like.” 

It takes Arthur a second to register what Merlin’s said but then he bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Surely you’d see the herbs and such that Gaius uses in his potions?” 

Merlin makes an incredulous face. “Do you really think crushed remedy ingredients are anything alike?” 

“I don’t know Merlin, I don’t often spend my time admiring flowers like a girl.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Ah but you do sometimes?” Merlin raises an eyebrow and Arthur scoffs, gently shoving his arm. 

Wrong arm.

A stifled gasp escapes Merlin as he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He reopens them almost instantly but it’s too late to pretend that nothing had happened, that he's alright. 

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur blurts, awkwardly jerking back and pushing himself off the bench to stand upright, not even trusting himself not to hurt Merlin anymore.

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin murmurs in response, sighing.

But it is.

It’s Arthur’s job to protect Merlin and here he is further aggravating his wounds. Maybe Gaius was right to keep them apart, at least until Merlin was stronger, better, back to his old self. 

But he can’t ever truly be back to his old self because he’ll have to carry the scars of his time with the witchfinder on his skin for the rest of his life. 

“Please- Arthur, don’t… leave.” 

Merlin’s voice breaks through his guilt-fueled doubts.

He doesn’t even have to think about it before sitting back down, shuffling as close to Merlin as he physically can, offering him a reassuring but apologetic smile. 

“I won’t,” he promises.

It’s an easy promise to make. 

Merlin’s loyalty is unbelievable, unrepayable, and if he’s willing to let Arthur stay near him- if he’s asking for Arthur to stay with him even after such an ordeal, Arthur will gladly honour that promise with his life. 

He knows it won’t be too difficult for Merlin’s endlessly, hopelessly kind heart to forgive him but until he feels as though he’s kept this promise for as long as he’s able to, he’ll never quite forgive himself for letting Merlin have to bear the burden of his scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the more subtle pain in this one ^.^
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	9. 17~ "Stay With Me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty ill so I'm not sure this chapter is coherent or makes sense, sorry in advance! Also lowkey still linked to the witchfinder stuff but hey...

Merlin wakes up crying.

He’s not sure why at first but flashes of blades and chains and indifferent smirks are enough to let him guess that, apparently, he’s not recovering as well as he’d thought. 

And if that wasn’t enough, he could easily have guessed because lately, it was common for him to lose out on sleep and end up experiencing his past pains all over again. It seems that, unfortunately, he’ll never quite get used to it. 

Angrily, he wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls himself out of bed because the sun seems to be peaking through his window anyway so there’d be no point in getting back to sleep.

He’s still a little disorientated by the time Gaius wakes up and serves them breakfast so he says nothing, keeping his troubles to himself, not wanting to worry the man he considers to be his father. 

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin?” Gaius frowns at him once they’re both finished and Merlin’s halfway out of the door.

He briefly considers replying truthfully. 

“Of course, Gaius!” he smiles widely before closing the door behind him and making his way to Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur’s still fast asleep, no surprise there. 

Rather than immediately waking him, though, Merlin sets up the armour for later, tidies away what he can, and sets the table for breakfast before attempting to rouse him.

“Arthur, come on, you’re going to be late!” Merlin all but yells at said prince, yanking the covers off him and chuckling when Arthur grumbles in response.

“So rude,” Arthur comments as Merlin kindly manhandles him upright.

For a second, he sounds just like Aredian’s son, right before a dagger had been plunged into his skin because he’d refused to make a sound. For a second, he’s back in a hollow, stone room with no escape and no refuge from the cruelty of someone out for revenge. For a second, he forgets where he is.

“Merlin, you do have to move,” Arthur says impatiently, breaking the spell.

“Right.” Merlin clears his throat, pushing away his memories and focusing on getting Arthur into a more respectable outfit for his meeting.

They’re both quiet until Arthur sits down to eat, at which point the silence seems to be suffocating Merlin and he finally speaks up: “I need to, uh, feed the horses. Unless there’s anything else?”

Arthur frowns before shaking his head. “No, that’ll be all. But make sure you’re back here after lunch to get me ready for training.” 

“Of course,” Merlin promises before sprinting from the room, his feet taking him towards the stables even though it’s not actually his turn to feed the horses and he’d just used the first excuse he could think of. 

When he gets to the stables, he turns and takes the path that leads into the woods, walking until he knows he hasn’t been followed before sinking down into the leaves under a particularly tall tree and sighing sadly. 

He lets his head fall onto his knees once he’s pulled them up to his chest, keeping his eyes open so that he doesn’t fall asleep but letting himself slump back against the tree trunk, too tired to hold himself upright.

And he cries.

He doesn’t mean to but he can’t get the scent of metal and blood and badly hidden hatred out of his mind and it’s driving him crazy.

Silent sobs ripple through his frame as he tries to breathe, tries not to fall into unpleasant flashbacks, tries and fails to stay composed. 

Only when he knows he can’t stay any longer without risking being late and letting Arthur down does he push himself to his feet, wiping the tear-tracks off his face and breaking into a soft run. 

“You’re late, as usual,” Arthur scolds as he bursts through the door.

“You’re ungrateful, as usual,” Merlin retorts, scoffing. 

He swiftly goes over to the armour and starts getting Arthur ready, letting himself stay focused on securing the clasps rather than securing his emotions. 

“You smell bizarre, Merlin. What were you feeding those horses?” 

Merlin blinks in confusion before pausing. “Um… I wasn’t… Someone else already had so I went to collect herbs for Gaius instead.” 

Arthur hums in acknowledgement, the two of them lapsing into a hushed quiet once more before making their way to the field so Arthur can embarrass the new recruits with his ego. 

He must be having a bad day because Merlin doesn’t even know what happens between handing Arthur his sword and the end of the training session. He’s dimly aware that he’d been gathering weapons and assisting the Knights but he can’t focus on any of it.

“Merlin, get your head out of the clouds,” Arthur yells at him eventually.

It’s only then that he realises the sky has gone dark.

“Wh- what?” Merlin asks, blinking as Arthur walks over to him.

“Did you get hit in the head?” 

Merlin nods without thinking, then frowns. “Wait, no. I don’t know.”

After a beat, a matching frown appears on Arthur’s face. It disappears before Merlin can comment on it and then Arthur is pulling him back to his chambers, his grip on Merlin’s arm soft and gentle but firm enough to hold. 

“Help me with my armour,” Arthur orders him once they’re both back inside.

Merlin does so, without question.

He steps back once all the armour has been taken off, picking up the gauntlet and readying himself for having to clean it all before the next dawn.

But Arthur just shakes his head. “No, Merlin, they don’t need cleaning yet.” 

“Then what do you need?” Merlin asks, dumping everything in the chest near the door so he remembers to clean it another time.

Arthur opens his mouth and closes it again, then repeats the process. 

Merlin would laugh if he weren’t so curious. “Arthur?”

“Stay with me?” 

It takes Merlin a second to process the request because Arthur had blurted it out as if it were trying to run away from him. 

“What?” is all he can reply.

Arthur walks over to him and smiles knowingly, something he doesn’t do very often. “I know that something’s troubling you, Merlin. Perhaps if you stay with me tonight, I can help.” 

Oh.

Merlin’s heart grins as he understands why Arthur had been acting so nervous: he was just worried. But it’s not like Arthur can fight Merlin’s own mind for him, especially when he has no idea what goes on in there.

“Arthur, I appreciate it, but-”

“I know,” Arthur interrupts, “that I don’t understand entirely. But it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

Even if he’d have wanted to, Merlin couldn’t argue with that. 

“If you wish,” he mumbles. 

Arthur’s explicit concern is almost surreal but Merlin lets himself have it, lets himself fall asleep in the presence of another despite the risk of his nightmares being a nuisance, lets himself be the subject of someone else’s help for once. 

He sleeps soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to y'all for getting my rambling to 2k hits and 200 kudos - that makes me so happy :)) I really appreciate if you've left comments as well ^.^
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	10. 19~ Asphyxiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with hurting poor Merlin :)

Arthur is far too soft.

In Merlin’s opinion, anyway. 

Sure, he’s a knight and a prat and he’s always ready to jump into a fight to prove his point.

But he's also ridiculously trusting and willing to compromise and prepared to agree with other people for the sake of honour and Camelot and all that.

Honour and Camelot and all that is exactly why Merlin and Arthur are forever going on quests to prove the strength and purity of their kingdom. Well, that, and because Arthur is far too soft to say 'no' even when it wouldn't be dishonourable for him to do so. 

And as usual, Merlin is saddled with worrying about Arthur and his ability to stay alive until he becomes the Once and Future King while Arthur is busy pretending not to care about Merlin and attempting to show off his bravery. 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going any time soon?” Merlin asks once they’ve been riding long enough for his legs to start aching. 

Arthur just makes a face at him. “Why does it matter?”

“If it doesn’t matter, then why can’t you tell me anyway?” Merlin counters, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll find out when we get there, Merlin!”

Merlin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He hadn’t packed that much food and they don’t seem to be getting anywhere so he really has no idea what they could be up against this time. 

Sunset arrives and Arthur is still going, determined to reach his secret destination. 

Merlin sighs and clears his throat. “Probably best to stop soon, rather than fall off our horses.” 

“You are such a girl, Merlin,” Arthur accuses, but he slows down nonetheless, leading them into a small, sheltered clearing.

“If you say so,” Merlin mutters to himself, grabbing the reins of Arthur’s horse before sliding off his own, making sure both are secure as Arthur checks the area. 

“We’ll stop here for the night, then.”

Merlin only nods, going about gathering some firewood because he knows Arthur is useless at choosing the right fuel and they’d end up with poisoned lungs if it were left to him; he can’t be sure but he thinks he hears a faint ‘thank you’ from Arthur’s direction. 

Once the fire is crackling and the two of them have eaten, they settle to sleep, curled around the fire. “Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles as he closes his eyes.

Merlin blinks. “Uh, yeah, you too.” 

It’s not, though.

Not for long, anyway.

The sound of silence wakes Merlin before anything else. 

The woods are always noisy, with animals or wind or bandits, so he’d gotten used to waking up whenever it went quiet, when it was more likely they were in trouble. 

When he opens his eyes, however, all he sees is a cave of some sort. 

“Arthur?” he whispers, sitting up, trying not to panic. 

He manages not to as well, until he stands up and finds he can’t walk forwards. Or backwards. Or sideways.

“What…?” Merlin frowns to himself, lifting his hands and meeting a boundary of sorts, an invisible barrier around where he’s stood.

“Arthur?” he calls again, louder this time, looking around. 

When he sees nothing, he sighs and mutters a spell, smiling when the cave glows for a moment. But that smile is quickly lost when he finds he still can’t get past the invisible barrier. 

He tries again, with a different spell.

It doesn’t work.

“Arthur!” he yells, pushing against the barrier with no success and more desperation than he wants to acknowledge. 

He mutters half a dozen spells and kicks at the probably magical barrier but none of it makes a difference because it simply refuses to budge and Merlin ends up tiring himself out. 

“No need to make a scene, Emrys.”

The next spell on Merlin’s lips fizzles as he jumps, searching for the source of the voice.

“Oh, you don’t know me,” the voice says again, distinctly female but unfamiliar.

Merlin folds his arms. “What do you want from me?”

The voice laughs, smug and amused. “From you? Nothing… But from your friend…”

“Leave him alone!” Merlin snarls, glaring at the shadows and hoping the voice gets the message. 

Again, laughter rings out, but it hurts Merlin’s ears this time and he winces. 

“It’s not him you should be worrying about,” the voice drawls, somewhere between a warning and a threat.

Merlin just rolls his eyes. “It’s always him I’m worrying about.”

Whoever it is taunting him seems to ponder this for a moment. “If he can prove himself and find you before it’s too late, you won’t have to worry about me.” 

“What does that mean?” Merlin asks, but something tells him the voice is gone. 

He groans, firing a few more spells at the barrier but giving up when he ends up with a headache. It’s clearly magic that relies on Arthur’s arrival, if he’s understood the voice’s words correctly. 

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin whispers, squinting at the very dimly lit but unhelpfully blank cave walls.

It’s only when his headache gets progressively worse despite his spells that he realises he has another problem: the barrier seems to surround him on all sides, meaning that he’s trapped in what’s essentially a bubble.

A bubble with a limited supply of air.

Great.

Merlin groans to himself, sliding down so he’s not unnecessarily tiring himself out and leaning on the barrier, hoping Arthur figures out whatever it is he’s meant to.

He thinks it might be getting colder but he’s not sure if he’s just imagining it so he simply wraps his arms around himself and waits, muttering a spell to try and warm himself up, not that it works in the slightest.

He finds himself getting increasingly more tired, even though he must have gotten some sleep before being used as part of some sorcerer’s plan to test Arthur.

His eyes eventually start drooping, at which point he starts to genuinely worry; Arthur’s not exactly known for his wits after all. 

“Hurry up,” Merlin mumbles, his voice sounding strange.

Breathing starts to hurt. 

Possibly just because he’s anxious, but it hurts nonetheless. 

He can tell he doesn’t have too much air left because his magic is itching to fight and burst free. He can’t afford to waste any energy on futile spells, though, so he just grits his teeth and tries to keep his breathing even. 

His head hits his knee.

“Ow,” Merlin groans, slowly lifting a hand to rub his forehead as he realises he’s not even aware of when he’s falling asleep anymore, which does nothing to soothe his nerves.

He’s vaguely aware of himself slumping and half-heartedly cursing Arthur before the cave seems to get darker and darker and darker and darker and-

He can’t breathe.

Merlin chokes, his hands curling into fists as his lungs start to ache.

The magic of the barrier must be affecting him because there’s no way it should hurt so much, there’s no way the feeling of his insides burning is normal.

Tears poke at the corner of his eyes but he doesn’t notice them because he can’t breathe, his mouth is open but he can't find any air, and he doesn’t want to die in the dark. 

It stings and itches but his feeble attempts to claw at his throat are useless because he's run out of oxygen and he can’t keep his eyes open anymore and maybe he will end up dying in the dark after all.

"Arthur..." A strangled, barely audible plea.

He doesn’t feel himself go limp. 

He doesn’t know that his eyelids flutter shut as his body shuts down and his magic quietly sparks, splutters at his fingertips. 

He doesn’t hear the relieved, guilty, desperate yell of his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'll leave what happens next to your imagination ;p
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	11. 21~ Laced Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty fun for me, which means it may not be for you... just saying ^.^

Merlin doesn’t drink.

Although Arthur seems to think otherwise because Gaius keeps using the tavern as an excuse to cover up mysterious absences, Merlin hates the very idea of being intoxicated. 

He’s only ever had alcohol to stop Arthur being poisoned and occasionally when he’s come across Gwaine, who sometimes doesn’t let him go until he’s had a small sip. 

So naturally, when Arthur invites him to a tavern party for a drink, Merlin politely declines.

Or rather, tries to politely decline. 

“Oh, come on, Merlin,” Arthur all but whines, “you’re always at the tavern anyway!”

“I am not!” Merlin argues, folding his arms. 

Arthur makes a face. “Sure. Whatever you say. But I can’t very well attend the event on my own, can I?” 

Merlin sighs. “Can’t you get some of the Knights to go with you?” 

“And have the rest of them complain that I play favourites?” Arthur scoffs, as if Merlin had suggested that he jump off a cliff. 

“I’m sure they’d understand-”

“I think you should be the one to understand that it would be easier if my manservant were to come with me.”

Merlin glares at the interruption but sighs again, knowing he won’t win this argument. And anyway, it’s an evening full of people that could potentially want to hurt Arthur so it could actually be in his benefit to go.

“Alright, fine. I’ll attend your weird party,” Merlin agrees. 

Arthur positively beams at him. “Great! Make sure you wear something nice.” 

“I’m your manservant, Arthur, I don’t need to look fancy,” Merlin points out, picking up the laundry basket as he rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, well… you don’t want Camelot to be known for having… strangely dressed… royal servants, do you?”

Internally laughing at Arthur’s inability to articulate his thoughts, Merlin just shakes his head. “Certainly not.” 

As he leaves for the night, Merlin wonders if it had been such a good idea to agree with Arthur so quickly. While an evening filled with princes from different kingdoms could pose a threat, he’s just not sure about being surrounded by alcohol; it never seems to end well. 

“The things I do for you, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin grumbles to himself as he finishes up his chores and heads to bed.

He almost forgets all about it, what with wrestling Arthur out of bed, helping the Knights during their training, running delivery errands for Gaius, and trying to bargain some bread from a cook because he’d forgotten to eat breakfast.

“Merlin, have you seen my- are you eating?” Arthur demands as he walks into his chambers, forgetting what he was looking for.

Swallowing the last of his bargained bread, Merlin gives him a sheepish smile. “Not anymore, why?”

Arthur just sighs. “I can’t find my sword.” 

Confused, Merlin glances at the sword in his hand.

Expectedly, Arthur rolls his eyes. “My other sword, Merlin. The one I always take to events like the one tonight. Or have you forgotten about that?” 

Groaning, Merlin brushes the crumbs off his hands and takes the sword from Arthur. “That sword’s not left the armoury for weeks, it’ll be covered in dust.” 

“Well, you’d better go clean it then.” 

Only mildly irritated, Merlin goes about doing just that, not seeing Arthur again until they set off for the remote tavern open only to the nobility, supposedly safe from chaos. 

“Do I really have to go in with you?” Merlin asks once they arrive, already disliking the noise coming from within the building.

Arthur just grabs his arm and pulls him along, only letting go when they’re inside and greeting people Merlin couldn’t care less about. 

As Arthur sinks into the mix of polite chatter and slightly obnoxious jokes, Merlin busies himself with getting Arthur a drink when he needs one or otherwise staying at the edges of the room so he can observe everyone. 

It goes well until Arthur calls him over and one of the other princes buys a round of drinks, a round of drinks that Merlin seems to be included in.

The other prince’s servant seems delighted and doesn’t hesitate to accept his drink but Merlin just fiddles with his glass, not comfortable with his presence being so obviously acknowledged.

“Come on, Merlin, one drink won’t kill you,” Arthur laughs, nudging him.

Merlin smiles hesitantly. “I don’t want to end up drunk… Sire.” 

“Oh, go on!” the other prince urges, glancing at Arthur. “I’m sure Arthur won’t mind you being a little slow at getting him a new drink.” 

Sighing and not wanting to make a fuss, Merlin takes a sip of the wine. It tastes strange, an odd mix of sickly sweet and oddly bitter, but he’s not knowledgeable enough to know how it’s meant to taste so he just ignores it. 

Of course, Arthur accidentally on purpose nudges him again and he ends up pouring half the glass down over himself. Once he’s finished spluttering, he shoots Arthur a pointed glare even if he’s grateful that it means there’s less wine he actually needs to drink. 

The other prince seems satisfied too, turning back to Arthur and laughing at his own manservant. 

“I’ll just go and clean myself up, then,” Merlin mumbles to himself, putting the glass down. 

Arthur smiles at him as he gets up, possibly a little tipsy. “Don’t take too long!” 

Telling himself that Arthur’s safety and smiles are worth it, Merlin heads outside, where he knows there’s a water pump he can use to try and wash the wine out of his soaked shirt. He stumbles as he goes but chalks it down to bumping into other tipsy nobles. 

It’s not until he gets outside that he realises something’s wrong. 

He can’t see properly.

Everything is slightly blurry and he can’t focus his vision.

Frowning, he tries to find the wall to lean on but ends up falling over, misjudging his surroundings entirely and landing on the ground with a dull thud.

“No, no…” Merlin breathes, pushing himself up.

Confusion takes over and he finds his thoughts twisting, tangling.

He has to get to Arthur. 

If he’s been drugged, because he must have been drugged somehow, there’s a chance Arthur’s suffering the same fate and he has to help, has to get back.

Blinking rapidly as everything suddenly becomes louder, Merlin groans, struggling to pull himself to his feet but just about managing, taking a moment to steady his shaking knees.

He doesn’t get very far, though, because someone grabs his arm, steering him the other way, the wrong way.

“No, wait... Arth-”

“Arthur doesn’t know how lucky he is,” someone says, and it takes Merlin far too long to realise it’s the prince that had offered him a drink. 

Oh no.

The round of drinks must have been a set-up of some sort. Merlin can’t figure out why he hadn’t gone after Arthur - if he had, Merlin could and would probably have saved him by now and all of it wouldn’t matter anyway. 

Merlin struggles but he can barely feel his limbs so he can’t resist being pulled along as the prince carries on, “To have such a loyal and... pretty manservant and to take it for granted…”

Any other day, Merlin would agree that his loyalty should at least get him a day off but he’s too confused to say anything, all his energy wasted on trying to turn around, even if he can’t even tell which way he’s meant to be going anymore.

“I h’v to… Arth’r…” Merlin slurs, groaning as his head starts aching, his arm stinging from where he’s being dragged along.

“Arthur’s probably too drunk to know what he’s missing,” the other prince scoffs, his footsteps echoing in Merlin’s ears like physical blows.

Maybe this time, it wasn’t directly Arthur’s life in danger at all. Maybe it was his. Who would have known?

“Wait…” 

Merlin is once again cut off as the other prince laughs. “Wait? I’ve been waiting all night for you two to finally separate, nobody warned me how hard it would be!” 

He wants to protest that he can’t be separated from Arthur because his destiny says otherwise but he feels a weird kind of sick and doesn’t want to accidentally mutter a spell instead so he keeps his mouth shut, trying not to trip over his own feet as they speed up.

He can’t do magic, he can’t reveal his magic, he can’t use magic, he can’t-

He trips over something.

With a cry, he hits the ground again, the other prince hissing something at him as he’s yanked back to his feet and they carry on walking.

Where are they even going?

Merlin just wants to go back to Arthur. 

Who was Arthur again?

Oh, right: his other half.

“Need… Oth’ Ha’f…” Merlin manages, trying to get his arm free again. 

The other prince just laughs at him, tightening his grip and making Merlin whimper as they speed up. He still doesn’t know where they’re going. But he knows Arthur won’t be there. 

“Sto’… Pl’s... ” Merlin tries, almost surprised when they do actually stop walking.

“Listen to me,” the prince orders, shaking his shoulders and making the world wobble painfully, “you’re my servant now. Arthur doesn’t matter anymore. Do you understand?”

Automatically, Merlin nods.

Then he shakes his head despite the pain. 

That can’t be right; he was born to be Arthur’s servant, he can’t serve someone else and especially not someone who’d drugged his drink. 

“No, Ar’ur…” Merlin moans, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“What did he do to make you so loyal?” 

Merlin grins lazily at that, forcing his eyes to open even though it makes no difference because everything is hazy and he can’t even see the prince right in front of him, never mind figure out where they are or where they’re going. 

“M’s be mag’c…” he whispers softly. 

And then everything is golden.

And the world is stopping.

And there’s a prince yelling in shock.

And someone’s being thrown into a wall.

And the world starts spinning again.

And people are shouting something.

And somebody is collapsing.

Oh, wait.

That’s Merlin.

Merlin is collapsing.

_ Thump _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnnnn...
> 
> Don't say I didn't warn you it wasn't the most fun ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	12. 23~ Bleeding Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's more directly Arthur POV so apologies if it's a tad strange...

Arthur isn’t exactly the calmest person. 

He’s good at controlling his emotions and pushing away his doubts with smiles and training because he doesn’t need to give anyone a reason to question his worthiness but he definitely isn’t good at being calm.

Especially when it comes to Merlin.

He doesn’t know what it is about Merlin, but there’s something, some kind of pull that never lets him forget his manservant. 

Not that he’d want to, of course.

That same, constant and inexplicable pull is why, several hours after he’d sent Merlin to fetch his cloak from the seamstress, Arthur starts to worry. 

It usually only takes Merlin an hour to get there and back, a little over if he stops to talk to someone - which, to be fair, he usually does because his social web seems to spread to every corner of Camelot and then some.

But he never takes hours to take get back. 

As soon it goes dark, Arthur moves. 

He pulls on one of the cloaks Merlin had given him to disguise himself and grabs his sword before heading out; he vaguely knows the directions from Merlin’s narrative ramblings. 

“You’d better not be dying, Merlin,” Arthur whispers to the darkness as he walks along the cobbled pathways, his footsteps softly echoing as he goes.

It’s all okay until he gets to a split in the road but can’t see anything except shadows on any of the roads ahead. Great. 

He groans loudly enough to scare a small something in the bushes, which promptly makes itself scarce. Taking that as a good sign, Arthur chooses that road and pulls his cloak on tighter, trying his best to avoid cracking any large branches. 

“Merlin?” he calls, not really expecting anything.

He doesn’t get anything either.

Grumbling to himself about nothing in particular, he carries on walking, pretending that he doesn’t stumble over a tree root every so often and rehearsing what he’s going to yell at Merlin when he finds him.

“Come on…” Arthur all but whines as he reaches another split in the road, glancing desperately at the three different options in an attempt to figure out which way Merlin had gone. 

The sky darkens.

Arthur makes a move towards the path furthest to the left but a cold breeze makes him shiver as he does and he squints into the darkness; there’s something strange about the road that he can’t quite explain. 

Making a move towards the middle path, he feels the same shiver run along his spine and, despite knowing that his father would call him superstitious for doing so, he backtracks immediately.

The third path, the one on the right, is just an ordinary path. 

No shivers.

Arthur throws a frown at the other two roads before hurrying along the path to the right, not wanting night to fall properly before he finds Merlin, especially since he didn’t bring a horse with him and he doesn’t fancy walking back under a pitch black sky. 

“Merlin?” he calls again, this time unafraid of being loud.

And it’s a good thing he is.

“Arthur?” 

Merlin’s voice is quiet, weak, barely even loud enough for him to hear it at all.

But he hears it nonetheless.

Relief floods through his veins as he heads towards Merlin’s voice, making sure to glance around so he doesn’t accidentally miss him.

“Where are you?” Arthur asks loudly, then promptly trips over another tree root.

Except it’s not a tree root.

This time, it’s Merlin.

Merlin cries out as Arthur falls on top of him, his face oddly pale even for someone illuminated mainly by moonlight. 

“Are you alright? What happened?” Arthur questions as he pulls himself off Merlin, glancing over him to try and figure out the problem. 

“My leg,” Merlin gasps.

Arthur looks down and, sure enough, Merlin’s left leg has a painful gash running all the way down the side, with an alarming amount of blood soaking his clothes and shining on the ground below him.

“What happened?” Arthur demands softly, wincing on behalf of Merlin as he takes in how bad the injury is and how painful it must be.

“I’m sorry, they got… they got your cloak,” Merlin replies, his eyes full of regret.

As if Arthur could care less about the stupid cloak. 

“Merlin, who did this?” Arthur asks, placing a hand on Merlin’s cheek to try and guide his focus. 

Merlin frowns, lifting a hand to place on top of Arthur’s - and Arthur has to physically resist the urge to punch something as he feels the blood on Merlin’s hands - before swallowing and saying, “It was… I was coming back, I had your cloak. They just came- they came out of nowhere and… I don’t know, they wanted some- wanted information? I tried to stop them, I promise, I- I tried but I- I couldn’t-” 

“Hey, hey, Merlin,” Arthur interrupts, keeping his voice soft, “don’t worry, it’s okay. I don’t care about the cloak.” 

Merlin nods sincerely, his head then falling onto Arthur’s hand as he groans. 

“Can you stand?” Arthur asks. 

He hates to think that Merlin’s been lying here for hours, cold and bleeding, alone. 

“I don’t… know?” Merlin blinks, looking at Arthur with a tired frown.

Arthur bites his lip and pauses just for a moment, just to brush Merlin’s hair away from his eyes, before sighing and pulling himself up, pulling Merlin along with him.

To his credit, Merlin only lets out a quiet, broken gasp, his hands curling desperately in Arthur’s cloak as he’s guided upright. “Sorry, Sire,” he mumbles breathlessly, probably not even sure of what he’s doing.

Arthur feels a funny kind of warmth seep onto his foot but he doesn’t need to be a genius to know it’s a result of them aggravating the awful wound on Merlin’s leg. Even a fool could guess, what with the bitter, metallic scent that surrounds them. 

“I’m sorry, Merlin, this is going to hurt,” Arthur warns.

He doesn’t let Merlin think about it too much before picking him up, one hand under his knees and one just below his shoulders. 

Merlin whimpers as he goes limp, his muscles clenching as he tries not to cry out. And if he ends up wrapping an arm around Arthur’s neck to try and ground himself to consciousness, neither of them mention it. 

Arthur can feel the blood that stubbornly oozes from Merlin, keeps on flowing from his wound, probably leaves a trail behind them as they make their way back to Camelot, back home. 

“Hang on, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, pushing himself to go faster.

Merlin blearily hums something in response but says nothing, clinging onto Arthur as if for dear life. And, in a way, Arthur thinks, his ability to get Merlin back to Gaius for treatment is all that rests between Merlin being alive and Merlin being dead. 

He just hopes he’s good enough to stop Merlin bleeding out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda having to go with these somewhat cliffhangers because I'm not giving myself enough time to develop everything, sorry about that !!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	13. 25~ Humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sheer amount of second-hand embarrassment I struggle with is through the roof so writing about humiliation is NOT my strong point...

Merlin being clumsy was nothing new. 

He was forever tripping over random things - which occasionally happened to be his own feet - and stumbling over the stairs in his hurry to get to wherever it is he’s meant to be. 

Arthur had quickly gotten used to accepting Merlin being literally unable to walk in a straight line on some days but it often caught others but surprise just how must of a klutz he could be on a particularly bad day. 

The Knights, at one point or another, had all ended up arguing with Arthur about Merlin’s presence on missions, not because they dislike him but rather, because they like him far too much to handle him falling off a horse or running into a bandit’s weapon or tumbling down a hill or anything else of the sort.

Occasionally, visitors of Camelot would comment on Merlin’s clumsiness, either with amusement or disdain - the latter of which Arthur was always quick to coldly shut down. 

Somehow, Merlin always survived. 

Unfortunately, reputations are not as easy to fix as sword wounds or cracked decorations. 

Especially royal reputations. 

After a long two weeks of hunting down the bandits that had been terrorizing the lower towns to the point where numerous people had arrived in Camelot begging for help, they’d finally caught, fought, and defeated the perpetrators. 

And Merlin was shattered.

He’d been the one to stay awake every night and make sure the fire didn’t die down so that the Knights could be warm and rested for the next day’s travels, he’d been the one to get up and gather supplies every time they’d stopped to rest, and he’d been the one to take care of and feed the horses so they didn’t tire out along the way. 

Naturally, this had left him with next to no time for himself.

He hadn’t really complained during the mission because technically, it was all part of his job. And since he hadn’t been able to help with his magic, he’d figured that sacrificing sleep was more than warranted.

He probably should have mentioned it to Arthur, though.

As it is, Merlin ends up dragging himself to the celebratory feast despite his intermittent dizziness, having had very little sleep and even less food. 

He does just fine, managing to stay out of everyone’s way and get the right food to the right people, with a little help here and there from the other, very concerned servants. 

He does fine, until he doesn’t.

He’s not even sure what happens in the end.

One second he’s carrying the jug of wine over to Arthur and the next, he’s failing to avoid someone else’s foot and stumbling over himself, too light-headed to stop himself. 

And then there’s wine all over Arthur.

Merlin freezes, feeling the colour drain from his face, glancing up at Arthur with something like fear in his eyes and an apology already spilling over his lips. 

“I’m so sorry, Sire, I didn’t- really, I’m sorry, I-”

He doesn’t get to say anything else because Uther chooses that moment to take notice of them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the King demands angrily, his tone drawing the attention of everyone at the large table.

Merlin goes an odd shade of red, his fingers tightening on the handle of the jug as what feels like hundreds of eyes turn towards the commotion, towards him. 

He hates being stared at. 

Attention is not his strong point and he usually does his best to avoid it so standing in a room filled with unkindly curious men as well as friends he’d rather not have witness him making a fool of himself is just about a nightmare.

“Father, I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” Arthur replies on Merlin’s behalf. 

But Uther doesn’t seem satisfied and, where he might have let it go on another day, the presence of other nobles and knights at the table seems to be shortening his fuse.

“Guards! Put the useless servant in the stocks!” He orders firmly. 

Not again.

Merlin bites his cheek, slowly placing the mostly-empty jug next to Arthur’s plate before muttering another apology, never having been more alert, more alarmed; it’s always a bad idea to fall asleep in the stocks. 

Arthur doesn’t say anything, wordlessly watching as Merlin is none too gently escorted from the room and Uther turns to the other guests with a smile. “My apologies, It seems someone accidentally let our clumsiest servant in by mistake, but at least our feast means there’ll be no shortage of leftovers for the children to throw at him!”

Laughing, everyone else dissolves back into chatter, focusing once more on their food. 

Well, everyone except Arthur and the inner circle of knights. Sharing a look with said knights, Arthur’s glad to note they all seem to be equally as worried for Merlin. After all, it’s not every day the king himself decides to punish a servant in front of such a large audience. 

“Father, may I be excused to change my clothes?” Arthur whispers to Uther when he finishes his conversation with someone else.

“Of course, but make it quick,” Uther replies, waving a hand. 

Arthur has no plans of doing so. 

He makes a show of heading toward his chambers before backtracking and heading outside, wanting and needing to check on Merlin.

Merlin is mid-yawn when Arthur gets to him but he still offers up a small, awkward wave and an even smaller but still somehow bright smile.

“Merlin, what was that?” Arthur asks before shaking his head. “Actually, are you okay?”

Merlin nods, yawning once more. “I’m fine, Sire. I’m sorry about your shirt.” 

Arthur just frowns at him. “You’re never usually that clumsy, what’s wrong? And Merlin, do me a favour and just tell me the truth, would you?”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin waves a hand, the shackles rattling as he does so. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.” 

Merlin can practically see the rusty cogs whirring in Arthur’s mind as he replays the mission in his head and realises why his manservant is so exhausted but he just waits, letting Arthur figure it out on his own. 

“Oh,” is all Arthur ends up saying in the end. 

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “That’s all you’re going to say?” 

“I didn’t realise…” Arthur shakes his head. “Well, you can’t exactly stay out here, can you?” 

“Uh…” Merlin shifts and yawns again. “And why’s that?” 

Arthur punches his arm with the most concerned annoyance Merlin has ever seen in anyone. “You’ll wake up with stiff joints if you fall asleep in the stocks!” 

“And bruises,” Merlin mumbles, almost glad that Arthur seems not to hear it. 

He’s rather embarrassed to be stood here with Arthur frowning down at him though. Not as badly as when Uther had yelled at him and publicly announced his uselessness, but still reasonably so. 

“Wait here,” Arthur orders.

Merlin chuckles, wondering where Arthur expects him to go, but he watches as Arthur disappears without saying so out loud. He might be sad to see him go but he’s guessing that Arthur intends to return at some point. 

He’s dozing off when Arthur finally returns, grinning like a small child. 

“Merlin, wake up, come on,” Arthur whispers.

“What is it?” Merlin asks sleepily, yawning again. 

Arthur doesn’t say anything in reply but then the shackles are falling off Merlin’s wrists and he can suddenly lift his head again to stand up properly, which just about answers the question anyway. 

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, frowning even as said prince takes his arm and pulls him along. 

Pulls him along to Arthur’s chambers.

“Wait, my chambers are the other way…” Merlin blinks in confusion but makes no attempt to change direction. 

“We’re not going to your chambers, Merlin. I don’t want to have to explain why you look dead on your feet,” Arthur explains, as if it’d be morbidly humiliating to face Gaius. 

Merlin almost laughs at that but he doesn’t ask anything else, yawning twice more before they get to Arthur’s chambers and smiling at the Guards stationed there who don’t even bat an eye at them. 

“Now get some rest, Merlin,” Arthur commands kindly, all but pushing Merlin towards the bed. 

“But that’s-” 

“Mine, I know,” Arthur interrupts stubbornly. “Now, are you going to sleep or do I have to knock you out?” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Merlin mumbles, but the mattress is so soft and what’s the point of fighting Arthur when he can just melt into his bed?

He hadn’t expected to be treated to Arthur genuinely laughing and the feeling of warmth being carefully pulled over his shoulders but he’s too tired, too confusingly happy to argue about any of it. 

He can hear Arthur grumbling about the way Merlin organises his wardrobe as he starts to drift off, his aching muscles sighing with relief as he gets to stay still, to gather his strength, to let himself relax and get comfortable. 

As he yawns again, Merlins decides being humiliated might just be worth it if this is the end result. 

Maybe he should spill wine on Arthur more often. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the fluffiness made up for the previous cliffhangers :)  
And sorry about mistakes! Again, time is not my best friend right now...
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	14. 27~ Ransom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend got me in a really wholesome mood so this ended up more fluffy than angsty,,, you can blame (or thank) them ^.^

Arthur has a reputation.

Everybody had always known that he was brave, skilled, stubborn, and genuinely good at heart. But slowly, they also came to know that he was fiercely protective, protective of his people, his knights, and most importantly, of Merlin. 

It was never explicitly questioned - probably because challenging the whims of the crown prince was a risk nobody wanted to take - but rather, observed and learned. 

Very quickly, the people of Camelot, no matter what status they were, knew to leave Merlin to his own devices. It definitely helped that Merlin was maybe the kindest, most loyal, and ridiculously helpful person that most people had ever met. 

Most people were more than happy to see the boy from Ealdor grow closer to the Crown Prince, especially since their interactions were often a source of amusement, admiration, and awe. 

But there would always be some that acted with a selfish combination of malice and greed. 

Unfortunately, those people tend to act in the dead of night. 

Merlin has no chance to fight back as someone materialises from the darkness and roughly places a hand over his mouth, a dangerous scent filling his senses as his limbs weaken and his eyes flutter shut. 

He dimly wonders what it is this time - whether this is a result of his life as Merlin or Emrys - before he drops the basket he was carrying and falls unconscious. 

The forgotten object clatters quietly to the ground as Merlin is harshly manoeuvred away, the ones responsible dragging him into the cover of the night as they retreat, sharing smug smirks and taking their time manhandling their target. 

“Has anyone seen Merlin?” Arthur asks the next day, joining Lancelot and Gwaine where they’re stood to one side of the training field.

Lancelot glances up sharply, concern filling his eyes within seconds. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen him all morning,” Arthur explains, frowning; he’d thought Merlin had simply woken up late and chosen to join the knights instead of meeting him in his chambers. 

At that, Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “Merlin would never miss training.” 

The three of them share an uneasy look before Leon jogs up to them. “Sire, there’s someone who wants to speak to you.” 

Knowing that Leon wouldn’t suggest leaving their training session unless it was something urgent and absolutely unavoidable - in other words, to do with Merlin - Arthur follows without missing a beat.

As do the other Knights. 

There’s a young girl waiting for them near the gates.

As Arthur approaches, she seems to relax, giving him a small, hopeful smile. “I knew I was right! I knew you’d help!” 

Arthur glances at Leon before nodding at the girl. “Of course. What is it?” 

The girl’s smile falters as she pulls out a basket Arthur hadn’t seen from behind her back and offers it to him. “It’s Merlin’s.” 

Elyan inhales sharply and takes it from her, well aware that Merlin wouldn’t just leave it lying around, then glancing up in confusion when he finds only herbs inside, nothing to indicate why the girl has the basket in her possession.

“Do you know where he is?” Percival asks softly, ever the gentle giant. 

The girl nods, then promptly shakes her head. “I don’t know who it was, it was so dark and I was about to go over and say hello to Merlin but they came out of nowhere and-”

Leon steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, slow down, there’s no rush. Tell us what you know.” 

“They just- they put something over his mouth and took him… they said they’d send a message and then they went south and I didn’t know what to do, I’m sorry!” The girl looks ready to cry.

Arthur nods at her gratefully. “Thank you for your help. Really, I appreciate that you came forward.” 

Lancelot smiles at the kindness in Arthur’s voice before winking at the girl. “Don’t worry, we’ll have Merlin back in no time.” 

The girl nods, smiling again before mumbling something about telling everyone else and disappearing. Choosing not to think too much about who she’s going to tell, Arthur turns to the others. 

“Well, looks like training will have to be relocated for today.” 

Without Merlin, though, it takes then twice the amount of time to organise horses and set off, the six of them not exactly knowing where they’re going, their destination being only Merlin. 

It turns out whoever had taken Merlin isn't the smartest.

Their camp isn’t even slightly difficult to locate and Arthur just about rolls his eyes at their stupidity as he spots the smoke. But his amusement is taken over by anger when he hears loud laughing; how dare they laugh when they’ve hurt Merlin?

“We’ll be quieter on foot,” Elyan murmurs as they get closer.

The six of them tie their horses to a few trees and approach where the group had stupidly taken camp to assess the situation, all of them equally as outraged when they see Merlin tied to a tree, a woman with a knife pressed to his neck crouched in front of him.

He looks alright, Arthur notes, aside from the bruises. 

Of course, the rope securing his gangly frame to the tree practically boils Arthur’s blood, but he’s glad he can’t see any serious injuries; at least it isn’t like other times where he’s found Merlin halfway through death’s doorway. 

As Arthur and the knights watch, Merlin makes an incredulous face before glaring up at her, clearly disagreeing with whatever she’s saying but not wanting to move due to her weapons. 

Arthur moves to help him without realising it but Leon grabs his arm, holding him back as Merlin winces and jerks his foot away from the woman. Apparently she’d been hiding another knife.

There’s something odd about Merlin’s expression as his eyes follow her second knife but Arthur can’t place it. The other knights have clearly noticed the same thing because Lancelot’s frown is deep enough to make him look five years older. 

“Something’s wrong with Merlin,” Gwaine comments, voicing the concern they all share. 

The woman moves away but not before pressing the knife harder into Merlin’s neck and leaving a thin red line in its wake. Merlin only bites his lip and lets his head fall back onto the tree, his posture relaxing slightly.

Only then does Arthur figure it out.

This must remind Merlin of the witchfinder. 

He curses quietly but strongly, finally pulling away from Leon and making his way around the camp so that he’s behind Merlin, the other knights guessing his plan and spreading out so they can jump in at a moment’s notice. 

Arthur waits until he thinks it’s safe before quietly moving so he’s beside Merlin.

“I let you out of my sight for one evening, Merlin…” Arthur whispers. 

Merlin freezes, letting out a slow exhale. “What are you doing here?”

It takes Arthur a second to realise he’d even said anything, he’s so subtle.

“What does it look like, idiot? Rescuing you!” Arthur hisses, torn between appreciating that Merlin is unharmed enough to question him or just being annoyed at his reaction.

He can almost feel Merlin roll his eyes. “They only want gold, they don’t care for Camelot’s secrets.” 

Arthur pauses.

“Gold?” he echoes.

He must echo it too loud because one of the men turns around and he barely has enough time to duck behind the tree before someone’s walking their way. 

Merlin coughs loudly to cover it up, sticking his leg out to make it look as if he were trying to trip the man up, trying his best to annoy him into forgetting what he’d intended to do.

It works.

The man growls and crouches so he can grab Merlin’s jaw, squeezing until Merlin can’t help but wince, still refusing to make a sound. 

“Do you think me to be stupid?” The man all but snarls.

Merlin just shrugs awkwardly, unable to speak with the man stopping his jaw from moving, and it takes all of Arthur’s willpower not to reveal himself and punch the man until he truly feels stupid.

“Play games with me again and I might forget I’m meant to keep you in good condition,” he warns before pushing Merlin’s head to one side as he leaves, bringing his foot down on Merlin’s injured ankle as he does so.

Merlin bites back a gasp, letting his eyes close as he breathes heavily for a moment, focusing on slowly moving his jaw to try and lessen the dull throbbing. 

“I’m going to kill him.” 

“Don’t be a cabbage-head, Arthur,” Merlin mumbles, keeping his head ducked so anyone watching can’t tell he’s talking. 

Arthur exhales, trying to think of a plan, pleasantly surprised when he hears Merlin chuckle. 

“I can feel the effort it’s taking you to think of a plan. Just wait until they’re all asleep,” Merlin tells him. 

Pulling a face at Merlin even though he can’t see it, Arthur shakes his head. “What if they try something?” 

“They’ve been ordered to leave me in good condition, remember?” Merlin reminds him.

Arthur sighs somewhat dramatically. “If they hurt you…” 

Merlin clears his throat to cut him off. “I know, you can play the knight in shining armour.” 

They lapse into silence once they’ve stopped quietly laughing, Arthur briefly sneaking around to tell the other Knights the plan before returning to his spot behind Merlin’s tree. 

He forces himself to still as someone else, clearly a little drunk, approaches Merlin. 

“Can I help you?” Merlin asks, sounding perfectly bored. 

A girl who seems rather young for the bandit sort of life sits in front of him and buries one hand in his hair, almost playing with it as she frowns. “So, what is it about you?”

Merlin shrugs, more worried about Arthur being able to avoid losing his cool and revealing himself.

“I mean, you are pretty…” the girl continues, a wistful tone in her voice, “but you’re also just a servant so that can’t be it.” 

Merlin bristles, clenching his jaw. 

Arthur also bristles, wishing he could stop those words from having been said at all; Merlin is far more than just a servant. 

“I know people that would pay a lot for eyes as lovely as yours,” the girl adds, staring at him with an uncomfortable intensity. 

When Merlin says nothing, she prods his stomach, smiling in satisfaction when he gasps and curls into himself a little. “And you’re not a mute. Nobody wants them back when we take them.” 

Arthur’s frown deepens as he listens to her, wondering if this whole ransom thing is a business that’s running right under his nose. He makes a mental note to look into it when they get back to Camelot. 

The girl giggles as Merlin yelps and Arthur wishes he could see better. 

“Do you think your prince will pay for you?” The girl asks and, if Arthur didn’t know better, he might have called her tone innocent. 

Merlin glares at her, pulling his head away. “You clearly don’t know much about him.”

“Then tell me!” the girl laughs, placing her hands on either side of Merlin’s face. “Tell me what makes you so special!” 

“Get your hands off me!” Merlin mutters instead. 

“Not unless your ransom is paid,” the girl all but chides, laughing again. 

Unless? 

Arthur glares daggers into the tree. As if there were any chance that he would let Merlin be taken from him without doing everything in his ability to get him back, whether that involved swords, gold, or anything else. 

“Shouldn’t you go and rest?” Merlin asks bitterly, trying his best not to meet her gaze. 

The girl just giggles, shifting. “What if I’d rather spend time with you?” 

Merlin huffs in irritation, clearly giving up on staying silent. “Don’t get attached, I’ll be gone soon.”

“What makes you so sure?” The girl drawls. 

Arthur had managed to control his rage so far but hearing Merlin hiss in pain after she asks that is too much and he steps out from behind the tree, his sword coming to a stop on her neck as he smirks.

“I do.” 

Merlin grins up at him. 

Pushing the shocked girl away, Arthur cuts through the ropes and pulls Merlin up, stepping in front of him protectively. 

The other knights take this as their cue to emerge, holding the leaders at swordpoint so nobody dares to move or attack them. A group of angry knights is not something most people want to face.

As the others successfully intimidate the bandits, Arthur turns to Merlin with a fierce smile. “You’re not just a servant.” 

Merlin nods, rubbing his arms. 

And he’d been right in the end, the others had all started to drink as night had drawn closer and, all things considered, the rescue mission goes incredibly smoothly.

“I could have handled that,” Merlin grumbles as they get back to the horse, limping slightly and contradicting his own statement. 

Lancelot gives him a funny look and nudges him lightly. “We don’t doubt you for a second.” 

“But someone has to be the damsel once in a while,” Gwaine laughs, releasing their horses. 

Merlin just rolls his eyes but Arthur coughs pointedly, not quite happy with that. “Merlin, you may be the most incompetent servant I’ve ever had but I need you to know… I would have paid anything they’d demanded if it had come to that.” 

The smile that blooms on Merlin’s face is, in Arthur’s opinion, simply priceless. 

“Thank you,” Merlin says softly, glancing around their group gratefully.

“Anytime, Merlin,” Elyan replies on behalf of everyone. 

They hadn’t been smart enough to bring a separate horse for Merlin so he ends up sharing with Arthur, which neither of them particularly want to complain about.

“Does this mean you care about me?” Merlin teases as they set off.

“Perhaps more than I should,” Arthur murmurs, surprising both Merlin and himself with the confession. 

Merlin just wraps his arms around Arthur in response. 

If the other knights notice their matching blushes and poorly hidden smiles, they don’t comment on it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually pretty long, wow... Sorry if I missed some mistakes!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	15. 29~ Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Essentially just me rambling tbh...

Merlin felt everything deeply. 

He had been born with magic and he was magic and that meant he was in tune with the world around him as well as anything and everything else beyond it. 

He could feel not only when people had magic but when anything in life around him had magic, whether it was amulets of the old religion or rare creatures or even the very earth itself.

Arthur had asked him before, how he knew places were sacred. 

Merlin had just smiled and tried to explain, explain that the trees were alive, that the air was practically vibrating, and that everything around them was full of life, full of faith, full of magic. Though he hadn’t said that last one aloud, for obvious reasons.

But Arthur hadn’t understood.

Nobody understood. 

Merlin was alone in his experience. 

He was alone, and he was mostly okay with that. 

Mostly.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Merlin would feel everything too deeply.

He would absorb the world around him and take into his heart the beating of the insects and the swaying of the leaves and the humming of the trees, and he would welcome every aspect of the world around him.

But that also meant he would have to take in the pain of the wounded, the misery of the ill, the grief of the mourning, the aches of the lonely, and the troubles of his loved ones.

His heart overflowing with empathy, he would feel it all.

He would feel and feel and feel and feel until he didn’t know which feelings were his own. 

And then he would stop.

Stop feeling. 

Unlike most of the time, people tended to notice him when he stopped feeling, when he let his heavy heart harden with a numb sort of nothing because everything was just too intense. 

When that happened, Merlin would retreat into his own mind, hiding behind mental walls and internal shields to protect his mind from the storm of life and death constantly attracted to him, waiting for him to open up. 

Suffice to say, his friends did not like it in the slightest. 

Merlin was meant to be happy and smiling and making jokes, full of life and energy. 

The knights had slowly come to realise that they couldn’t really help Merlin on those days because he wouldn’t pick up on their true intentions, taking everything at face value and creating more confusion than peace. 

They tried, of course. They cared greatly about Merlin so they really tried, they did everything they could think of to help him, but none of it worked very well. 

Perhaps they could make Merlin smile but never for long, never long enough for it to reach his eyes, his mind, his heart. 

So they stopped pushing him after a while, keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn’t put himself at risk but making sure not to interfere and cause more troubles for their troubled friend. They didn’t understand, not really.

Merlin would always thank them profusely once he’d fought the numbness away, he’d apologise until they were tired of his rambling and he’d give them small tokens of his appreciation, but they all knew it was only a matter of time before they had to do it all over again. 

That is, until Arthur started to notice. 

Arthur and Merlin shared something that nobody else could. 

Their destinies, their fates, their very paths in life were lined up together, entangled together. 

It took Arthur far too long to notice when Merlin’s spring-like personality would crack and bend and fall flat but once he did, he couldn’t stop noticing it. 

When Merlin’s energy would fizzle and fade, Arthur would stay close to him, making up excuses for them to remain together, never letting anything, no matter how crucial to the kingdom it may be, separate the two of them. 

Like Arthur, it took Merlin far too long to notice the way Arthur would help him. 

Once he did, he would smile at the blatant affection in Arthur’s actions and laugh at the useless but well-intended jokes Arthur threw his way instead of random objects, something like hope blossoming in his void of a soul. 

It became a routine.

Whenever Merlin would lose touch with the world and become numb to the flurry of life in every corner of his life, Arthur would step in and tease his spirit back to its usual, bubbly state. 

If the world became too loud and too heavy and too painful, Arthur would lead them back to his chambers and order the guards not to disturb them, wrapping his arms around Merlin until he lost himself in the feeling of being enveloped and secured by his other half.

If the world became too quiet and too empty and too painful, Arthur would lead them back to his chambers and remind the guards not to bother them, wrapping his arms around Merlin until he found himself in the feeling of being enclosed and steadied by his other half. 

If Merlin needed him, Arthur would be there. 

While Merlin’s protection was active and alert and always done from the shadows and behind the scenes so that Arthur would never find out, Arthur’s protection was the opposite.

His protection was passive and peaceful and planned out as something obvious, something readily visible and impossible to miss. 

Arthur had the power to make Merlin smile and cry and laugh and scream and  _ feel _ .

Even when he felt utterly detached and disjointed, Merlin knew Arthur could get him to feel again, to find his purpose and figure out how to settle back into his usual level of magical empathy. 

And every time, there was one feeling, one emotion, that Merlin would use as a beacon, a burning torch in the dark, a light at the opening of a cave. 

Every time, there was one force that radiated so strongly from Arthur that not even Merlin’s weary heart could bring itself to deny, one fierce but soft force. 

It was something Merlin admired and feared, its power was worthy of nothing less than awe but the way he found himself seeking it, using it as a stairway back to reality, was frightening and akin to fearful. 

Despite the risk, Merlin would never turn it away for that one emotion, one mindset, one route back to himself was something he had always given, freely and generously, but had rarely received back.

It was the rope Arthur always knew to throw down and help him climb, hand in hand.

It was the only cure to his numb predicaments.

It was love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was the penultimate chapter ?? There's only one more left ?? What even is time ?? 
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, I'm really tired :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


	16. 31~ Embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for spoilers of the ending of the show, just in case you, for some reason, haven't watched it yet...

Arthur is Merlin’s other half.

Arthur _was_ Merlin’s other half. 

Their destinies had been written before they were born and their fates had been set in the stones of time itself. 

They were, as everybody refused to stop saying, two sides of the same coin, created to complete one another in every way, designed to find each other and stick together. 

Arthur was nothing without Merlin.

When Merlin was not by his side, he was vulnerable, unprotected, defenceless. 

Regardless of his swordsmanship and his tactical ability, Arthur could not survive without Merlin and magic and Merlin’s magic watching out for him, keeping him safe. 

Merlin knew this, of course, and he’d done everything in his power to stay by Arthur’s side for years and years and years, serving Arthur, serving the Once and Future King, serving his purpose in their destiny.

Even a blind man could see Merlin’s utter devotion to Arthur.

It was not something to be trifled with. 

To hurt Arthur was to hurt Merlin and to hurt Merlin was to hurt magic. Hurting magic was akin to plunging a sword deep into the fabric of the world and pushing, twisting, teasing it deeper until everything known to anyone was liable to fall apart. 

So, naturally, Merlin prevented anyone from hurting Arthur. 

Almost anyone. 

He couldn’t stop everyone.

He couldn’t stop the druid boy.

He couldn’t stop Mordred. 

Merlin had tried, almost died, and arrived just in time to win the battle but he had lost the war because he had lost Arthur, lost his friend, lost his other half. 

Arthur had died.

Merlin had left his side and so Arthur had died. 

He had returned, of course, but it had meant nothing because he had left, he had been forced to leave, he had been given no choice but to be apart from Arthur. 

And so, it was proven that Arthur was nothing without Merlin. 

But the reverse was left unproven. 

What was Merlin without Arthur?

Merlin had cried and crumbled and pulled himself back together so he could send Arthur on his way, set him alight and hand him over to a prophecy far greater than himself. 

He had sobbed and screamed and somehow found the strength to compose himself in order to help Camelot, help Albion, help the future that Arthur was destined to return to and be a crucial part of. 

But he’d had to let go of Arthur.

Arthur had left. 

And Merlin, Merlin had remained. 

He watched as Arthur’s burning body disappeared, as the leaves on the trees changed colour, as the seasons passed and time moved on as if a great tragedy had not just occurred and changed the world, changed Merlin’s world. 

Ruined Merlin’s world. 

Without Arthur, Merlin was nothing.

He was anything and everything all at once, but he was still nothing. 

He’d been born to serve Arthur but he’d thought he would serve Arthur for the rest of his life rather than serve Arthur for the rest of Arthur’s life.

A subtle difference, but a heavy one. 

“Stay with me,” he’d whispered, begged, ordered, pleaded, cried.

But Arthur hadn’t stayed. 

He’d left.

He’d left and, unlike Merlin, he’d never returned.

He’d left Merlin and Merlin had been all alone. 

Again.

He had lost so many - his mother, his father, his other father, his best friend, his new best friend, all his other new friends, his first love, his dragon, his magic, even himself - but none of them could begin to compare to what it felt like when he’d lost Arthur. 

Losing Arthur was losing his soul and his purpose, his journey and his destination; losing Arthur was losing his whole world. 

All of his efforts had been for Arthur. 

To lose Arthur was cruel and painful and more than he was able to bear.

But he had no choice. He had to bear it for he would always be, he would never die, he would live on and watch as the world progressed and time passed and eras changed. He had no choice but to let it happen, to survive on his own long after Arthur’s death. 

Merlin lived on. 

Merlin lived on but he never moved on. 

It was impossible.

He stayed by the lake, by Arthur’s side, in life and in death and in everything else.

He would sit and watch the waves, listening to their rhythm, imagining that they crashed on the shore in time to Arthur’s heartbeat, with the same pattern of his lifeforce. 

He would close his eyes and try to forget the pain of the world and the agony of time passing around him and he would think of Arthur’s voice, Arthur’s courage, Arthur’s kind heart. 

He would remember everything that he had fought for and everyone he had tried to help and he would wonder if it had all been worth it but he would never think to undo even a second, never wish to change any of it. 

Sometimes, when the wind slowed to a gentle breeze and the woods quietened to a soft hum, he would smile.

He would feel Arthur.

He would imagine that, just for a moment, Arthur was still there with him, there to tease him and make him smile and give him unnecessary amounts of chores to do. 

Those moments were brief but if he let himself dissolve into them, Merlin could pretend. 

Pretend that Arthur was sat next to him, his legs outstretched, his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, their bodies pressed together, their souls as close as possible.

He could pretend that he wasn’t alone, that he hadn’t failed in one way or another, that he was still Arthur’s servant and friend and protector.

Even when the land under the hills changed shape and the forests were cut down and the paths were turned into roads, Merlin stayed by Arthur’s side, by the lake.

His magic made sure the lake was never disturbed.

His magic made sure that Arthur could be given the chance to return at any moment and fulfil his destiny. 

His magic made sure Merlin had something to hold onto. 

Because Merlin was tired and weary but he was still hopeful, oh so hopeful. 

And if his hope ever faltered or stumbled, he would move closer to the water, letting it spill over his legs and flow over his hands and occasionally trickle over his eyes. 

When his hope felt small and weak and powerless, he would let everything fade away and go back to the past, back to when everyone was alive.

Every time his hope dwindled, he would imagine Arthur was there, enveloping him, shielding him, completing him.

He would let himself float, sink, and settle into Arthur’s embrace. 

For the very thought of Arthur’s embrace was all that gave him the power to keep him going. 

Arthur’s embrace was all he craved.

It was everything he could ever wish for and everything he could not have but Merlin knew, somewhere deep inside his heart, that it was not beyond possibility. 

One day, the king would return.

One day, his other half would be with him once more.

One day, he would feel Arthur’s embrace. 

One day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bittersweet, I know, but I watched the last two episodes again today and made myself sad so this just happened, sorry for mistakes that I am too tired to catch.  
Thank you if you've been reading along or if you've only read certain chapters or if you've stumbled across this in the future when Merlin has been granted that embrace; it's been a very fun and painful journey and i'm pretty proud of it ^.^  
I should probably have split these up into individual fics to make them easier to read but if you decided to click on this craziness and stick with it, i hope you enjoyed it xox
> 
> Ps. happy halloween <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or comment?


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